Nasty Girls: The Next Generation
by Flagg1991
Summary: Lana and Lola's daughters with Lincoln are just as screwed up as they are. Maybe even worse. And they have an admirer, a kid so pathetic and cringy he makes Clyde look good. Sequel to Nasty Girls. Cover by TMNTfan.
1. Happy Barfday

**The third and final installment in the **_**Nasty Girl **_**franchise. Like most "3" things, it wasn't necessary and probably shouldn't have been done, but oh well. The character Palmer McBride belongs to TMNTFan/Salvo...whatever the hell he calls himself. Really, dude, pick one name and stick with it. He also did the artwork so you can get an idea of what the characters look like. The characters Leah and Leanne are mine and were repurposed from another story I wrote and our special guest was...well, I don't want to ruin anything. **

It was called Taco Timmy's and it was the biggest Mexican restaurant in three states. Constructed to resemble a Spanish mission, it boasted two floors of food, fun, and fiestas, including a massive buffet laden with beans, rice, refried beans, taco pizzas, and a thousand other dishes that would send you running for the bathroom. The main attraction, for Lincoln Loud, was the sprawling indoor playground and adjoining private dining room, which made TT's the perfect place to host a birthday party. Balloons, steamers, and a big pink banner with gold lettering (HAPPY 13) decorated the space, and a banquet was laid out in the attached dining hall: Tacos, burritos, Mexican pizza, enchiladas, quesadillas, ice creams, a cake with virgin white frosting (denoting its unspoiled state) and presents...lots and lots of presents.

Sitting at one of the tables facing the towering playground equipment, he took a drink of Coke from a paper cup and sighed (_refreshing!)_. It was half past noon on a Saturday and feeble winter sunlight streamed through the plate glass windows overlooking the parking lot. Kids chased each other back and forth and screamed laughter like escaped mental patients and climbed excitedly through the network of tunnels. The sounds of their merriment resounded off the walls and worked on the hot, red knot already forming over Lincoln's left eye. Next to him, Lola, clad in a sleeveless pink dress that stopped well above her knees, scrolled disinterestedly through her phone, legs crossed and one foot tapping. Lana leaned against a metal support column wrapped in padded foam with her hands in the pockets of her jeans; she wore a pale blue T-shirt beneath an open green and white plaid button up and muddy work boots that left clumps of dirt in their wake.

She looked irritated.

"Where is this guy?" she asked.

Every birthday party at TT's was, the website promised, entertained by its mascot, Timmy Taco. Well, the party was half way done and Timmy hadn't shown. If he wasn't here before cake and presents, Lincoln was asking for a discount.

"I don't know," Lola said, "but -"

A high pitched cry went up, and all three of them looked toward the slide. A girl in a sleeveless pink and white striped dress climbed out and stalked over, her lips pursed and her sideways ponytail cracking like one of the bullwhips Lana liked being hit with. She was tall and slender with murky blue eyes, warm skin kissed bronze by the sun (and tanning booths), and as beautiful and fashionable as her mother...if you overlooked the dried food on her chin and spackling the front of her dress.

"Aunt Lana," Leah said tightly, "your daughter came up behind me and tried to choke me again." She stabbed her finger - French tipped nail broken and jagged from play - at the slide. Another girl emerged slowly and coyly, her hands fisted to her chest. She wore a white blouse and a dark skirt - pieces of a uniform to a private academy she didn't attend.

Lana twisted around and glared. "Leanne, come here."

Shy as a rabid rat pretending to be a mouse, Leanne came fully out of the slide and jumped down, her messy blonde hair nearly covering her brown eyes. Lincoln put on his best fatherly scowl and watched her meekly approach, head down. Leah sat on her mother's knee, looking like an overgrown child too old for mall Santas but believing anyway. She folded her arms and glowered at her younger sister, manicured brows angled in an angry, downward V.

Leanne stopped in front of her mother and regarded her black shoes with a phony castgated expression. "What have I told you about choking people?" Lana demanded.

"I was just playing Boston Strangler," Leanne mumbled.

Maybe it was her incestuous genes, but Leanne had some sick obsession with serial killers and morbid shit that put even her aunt Lucy to shame. _There's something wrong with your daughter, _Lucy told him once, _she needs help. _If you let her, she'd spend hours watching serial killer documentaries on YouTube and reading from her favorite tome, _The Big Pop-Up Book Of Serial Killers_.

Her favorite was The Night Stalker, because he broke into people's homes at night and, in her words, "really messed them up" Her favorite games, all of her own invention, were based on murderers. She'd hide behind an end table with a Nerf Gun, then shoot out as you passed by - that one was called D.C. Sniper. Once a day, she'd disappear into the basement to "check on my victims." One day, Lincoln went down there and found a bunch of headless Ken dolls stipped naked with their hands bound behind their backs with pieces of yarn. She called that one John Wayne Gacy. At dinner, she spun grand fantasies of eating human flesh like Jeffrey Dahmer, and last Christmas, she asked for a chainsaw "Like Leatherface."

She got a hobby horse instead.

One of her newer games was Boston Strangler, wherein she came up behind you at random, threw something around your neck (yarn, a robe belt, one of her necklaces) and pulled tight. She got Lincoln last week with an extension cord, and Lana whipped her ass - all other options were expended by now. They took her to see a shrink, and he pronounced her whole, sane, and healthy. That, of course, was because, like her heroes, she could don a charming mask and fool you into believing she was an innocent little lamb. Of course, it didn't help that he and Lana kept some of her more...aggressive persuits (like Boston Strangler)...to themselves. God, if they told the doctors, they'd put her away somewhere.

Forget _that_. They would just have to deal with it and with the inevitable trial for multiple murders that waited in the future.

"I told you not to play that game," Lana scolded. "You could hurt someone."

The muscles in the sides of Leanne's neck strained as though she were fighting to hold something back (maybe "_that's the point"_), and she gave a curt nod to show that she understood.

"Now say you're sorry," Lana said.

Leanne glanced up at her older sister. "Sorry for choking you on your birthday. I should have waited."

Flashing, Lana shoved the eleven-year-old back. "Go sit down," she said and gestured vaguely to a bank of empty tables. Leanne turned, went over, and dropped into a chair.

"You okay?" Lincoln asked Leah.

"I'm fine," Leah said, "it's _her _who's gonna be hurt if she strangles me again."

Despite Leanne's occasional transgression, she and Leah were very close. Perhaps not in the deeply profound way in which Lincoln was close with his sisters (the ones he wasn't with, that is), but enough that they were almost always hanging out together. Leanne followed her older sister around like a puppy dog, and in his more introspective moments, Lincoln suspected that one some level, Leanne envied Leah's comparative normalcy. Leah, on the other hand, liked having someone to boss around and take the blame for her messes. This family, unlike many others, was a commune with two women and a man raising the offspring of two different sexual relationships in common, so it would only be natural for cross pollination to happen, and for one child to take, in ways, after its non-mother female guardian.

That's to say, Leah was Lola's daughter through and through save for being a nasty pig who openly burped, scratched her butt (then sniffed her fingers), and slopped her food, clothes, and other belongings around like mud. Her reasoning was "I'm beautiful, I can do anything I want." That came from Lola, and combined with Lana's penchant for nastiness, it created a monster.

"Like I told you," Lola said and lovingly stroked her daughter's hair, "if she does something like that to you, drop her ass."

Lana hummed her agreement. "No mercy. Maybe it'll teach her to stop."

After a few minutes, Lana let Leanne come out of time out, and, like nothing happened, she and Leah teamed up and disappeared into a tunnel. Lola sighed and crossed her arms. "You really need to do something with her," she said sharply. "She's a menace."

"She's fine," Lana said, a defensive edge creeping into her voice.

Oh, no, they were going to fight. Again. An unstoppable force meeting an immovable object. Lincoln's heartbeat picked up and he looked for a place to hide until it was over, spotting instead three familiar faces coming in through the main dining hall. "Hey, Clyde!" Lincoln called and lifted his hand.

Clyde looked over, saw him, and smiled. A tall black man with a pencil line mustache and streaks of premature gray through his hair, Clyde wore a white button up, open at the throat and tucked into black slacks, wing tipped shoes, and a gold watch. He worked as an investment banker and lived on the ritzy side of town in a three story brick house with ivy covered walls and a three car garage.

With him were his wife Penelope and fourteen-year-old son Palmer, the former a tall and curvy redhead with giant breasts pushing out the fabric of her pink sweater (and a thicc ass filling her apple bottom jeans), and the latter tall, gangly, and nearly as light skinned as Lincoln himself. He wore high water pants, black shoes with white socks, and a green, Mr. Rogers tier cardigan button up over a plaid shirt tucked into his pants just like Clyde. Giant Coke bottle bottle glasses slipped down his crooked nose and he wheezed asthmatically as he and his parents made their way over. His clunky, orthopedic shoes gave him a lumbering gait that reminded Lincoln of Frankenstein.

"Hey, buddy," Clyde said and put his hands on his hips, "been a while. How's it going?"

"Alright," Lincoln nodded, "funny seeing you here."

Being rich, Clyde no longer came to places like this. He was "too good" for them, and Lincoln couldn't blame him, he supposed.

"Yeah, just bringing Palmer out for his weekly socialization." He slapped his son's back, and the boy stumbled clumsily forward. Clyde and Penelope homeschooled him because he was bullied out of every school he ever went to. If the other kids weren't making fun of his asthma, nearsightedness, geeky proclivities (the kid played Dungeons and Dragons, for Christ's sake), or shamble, it was his pigeon chest, club feet, and closely held decision that he was smooth. Seriously, he called himself Black Casanova and seemed to think that women wanted to be with him and men wanted to be him.

"Hello, Mr. Loud," Palmer said in a high, reedy voice and took a hit from his inhaler, "I assume the three of you aren't alone."

Lincoln nodded. "It's Leah's birthday."

A sly grin ran across Palmer's chapped lips. "How serendipitous. I just so happen to have brought her the best present of all."

Lincoln's brow knitted in confusion. "What's that?"

"Me."

He turned and waddled over to the tunnel entrance and climbed in.

Palmer had a crush on Leah. Hell, the kid had a crush on every girl (cast the net far and wide, and you're bound to catch something), but since he vaguely knew Leah - they played together when they were small - he thought he had an in or something. Like every girl, however, she shot him down in flames.

And he remained completely clueless.

"Birthday, huh?" Clyde said and crossed his arms; Penelope conferred with Lana and Lola, the three of them trading womanly gossip and chatter, or maybe plotting a mass shooting. Who knows? "How old is she now?"

"Thirteen," Lincoln said.

When his relationship with Lana and Lola came out, virtually everyone disowned them, even their family. Mom _may _have slapped him and called him a pedophile. In her defense, he was eighteen and screwing his thirteen year old sisters. Clyde was the only one who didn't shun him, though there was always a certain tension between them.

"That's great," Clyde said, "Palmer's turning fifteen in May. They grow up fast."

"Yes, they do," Lincoln said fondly. He remembered the day Leah was born like it happened only last week. Lola was nineteen and taking classes at a beauty school in Elk Park. She was always petite, and during her pregnancy, she was _all _stomach, which, for some strange reason, kept Lincoln in a perpetual state of horniness. Seeing his pretty little sister carrying his child...unf.

Her water broke in the middle of Food-Lion and splashed the floor in a sticky gush. Her eyes widened and she let out an _uh oh _of alarm. At the hospital, Lana stood on one side of the bed and Lincoln on the other, Lana pumping her fist and cheering her sister on and Lincoln wincing in pain because Lola's grip was suddenly very, very, very strong. _You did this to me! _she hissed through her teeth as contractions wracked her frame. _I will never let you touch me again! _

Leah came after six hours of pushing, grunting, and loud, shrieking curse words, and when the doctor wrapped her in a blanket and put her in his arms, Lincoln cried like a bitch.

Sometimes he missed the girls being little and seriously considered having another, but Lana had her tubes tied after Leanne (she took labor even worse than Lola did), and Lola was adamant that she wouldn't push another child out for fear of damaging her "beautiful vagina."

It was for the best, he supposed. He had two wonderful little girls to dote on. Best part of being a stay at home father was getting to spend lots of time with Leah and Leanne while their mothers won the bread.

"Seems like only yesterday Palmer was toddling around the house in his underwear and playing with G.I. Joes," Clyde said with a nostalgic sigh. "Actually," he said, "it _was _only yesterday."

Lincoln offered a stiff and uncomfortable laugh (wow, that kid's worse than I was at that age) and Clyde wistfully shook his head. "Hey, babe?" he said to Penelope, "I'm going to get the food. What do you want?"

She thought for a moment, then glanced strickenly between Lana and Lola, as though they might know what she liked. "I don't know, I'll come with you." She came over, and together they went back into the dining room.

Lincoln started to turn away, but stopped when, before the door could even fall closed, a seven foot tall clown in poncho and sombrero entered. His face was painted white and a red dot, like the laser sight of a rifle, colored the tip of his nose. He wore baggy, silvery MC Hammer pants and Beatle boots that clicked on the tile floor as he walked in. A girl in pigtails cut him off, and he rudely shoved her out of the way; she spun, flailed her arms, and fell onto her butt. "Bet you won't do _that _again," the clown said in a familiar voice.

He looked up, and his gaze locked with Lincoln's. For a moment, they stared at each other, then the clown's fist went to his mouth and he staggered back as if struck. "Oh, _hell _naw. Not yo ass again."

Lincoln blinked. "D-Dino?"

Lana and Lola came over, both gaping in shock.

"Nah, nigga, my name Timmy Taco now," Dino said, "street name TT." He loomed over them like a gangsta skyscraper, his brow sternly creased. Lola and Lana drew closer to Lincoln for protection that he couldn't give.

Lincoln licked his lips. "Sorry, old habits," he forced a nervous laugh. "I thought you worked at the Pizza Dungeon."

"Man, fuck that place," TT said, "in fact, don't even say that shit in my presence, nigga. They started talkin like they made me, nigga, _I _made me. Ain't no one else got shit to do with it. They done saw too. I walked out the door and ten days later they shut down." He shook his head, saw Lana and broke out in a sunny grin. "Hey, girl!" He reached out, grabbed Lana's hand, and dragged her through some overly complex handshake that had more steps than AA. Next her looked at Lola, and his face fell. He flicked his eyes distastefully and down her body, and she smiled sheepishly. "Miss Thang. Check yo self like I told you?"

Lola nodded quickly. "I sure did," she said. "I'm all good now."

"Good," TT said, "cuz you was a little bitch and I almost knocked yo ass out. I took pity cuz you was six, I ain't gon take no pity now. You a grown ass woman."

Before Lola could reply, TT looked around the room; kids played, ran, giggled, and spun like hippies on LSD communing with nature. "Which one's yours, nigga?" he asked. He held his hand to his forehead as if to shield out the glare of the sun and scanned them. "Got two heads and five arms cuz yo nasty incest ass, huh?"

Lincoln saw Leah and Leanne sitting at a table and catching their breaths, both red faced and sweaty from their play. "Right there."

Leah shifted, snaked her hand up her dress, and dug in her butt. She brought her fingers to her nose, sniffed, and gagged; Leanne tracked a little Hispanic boy with fevered eyes and a crazed smile, perhaps wondering what his soft throat would feel like under her hands. "I see _dat,_" TT said. "Yo girl suckin her butt fingers," he said to Lana.

"Actually," Lola said and flushed with embarrassment, "that's...that's _my _daughter."

TT glanced between her and Leah, then tilted forward and squinted at the girl. She noticed him and froze. "Huh. Guess she is. Which one the birfday girl?"

"Her," Lincoln said, "she's turning the big 1-3."

"The big 1-3?" TT asked. "Well, goddamn, nigga. You got yo self teenager now. Y'all whip her ass? I bet she need it."

Lincoln opened his mouth to reply, but Lola cut him off. "No, we don't spank her. She's a good. Her _sister, _on the other hand…"

TT glanced at Lana. "What's wrong wit'cho girl?"

"Nothing," Lana said, "she -"

"She's a budding psychopath," Lola said.

That cut Lincoln as deeply as it did Lana. "Fuck you, bitch," Lana hissed, "there's nothing wrong with my daughter."

TT lifted his brow. "What's good with her?" he asked Lola. Lana started to speak, but TT held up his hand. "Shut yo ass up, I ain't talkin to you."

Sighing, Lola said, "Where do I even begin? She's obsessed with serial killers and plays sick games where she chokes people and pretends she's the Baltimore Strangler. She hangs her Barbie dolls by nooses, cuts their heads off, and every time she eats a stewed tomato, she pretends it's a heart."

TT winced. "God_damn._" He looked at Lana. "She do that?"

For a moment, Lana looked torn, then she shrugged one shoulder noncommittally. "Well...yeah, she does, but that doesn't make her a psycho. Our sister Lucy liked horror and vampires and stuff and _she's _fine." There was a desperate inflection in her voice, as though she were trying to convince not only TT of Leanne's mental health, but herself as well.

The clown considered her words, then said, "Sound like somethin wrong to me. Y'all ain't abusin her, is you? Cuz I'mma straight kill all y'all if you hurtin ya kids. I don't play that shit."

"God, no," Lincoln gasped, "w-we love our daughters. That's just...how she is."

TT crossed his arms and stroked his chin. "Y'all let her watch fucked up stuff on TV?"

Lana shook her head. "No. She does watch serial killer things on her phone, but we can't really -"

"Take it away then," TT said, his tone patronizing, like they were blithering retards. "She don't need no goddamn cell phone anyway. Nigga, I didn't have my first phone til I was fifteen. You think my grandmama was out there buyin me the xPhone 12? Nah, nigga, if she wanted me, she call out the back door. And none of this textin to say come home shit. I knew my ass had to be home when the street lights came on. If I was late, you think I got a text, nigga? Hell no, I got my ass _whipped_."

Lincoln nodded. "Okay, but -"

TT held up his hand. "I ain't surprised y'all can't raise yo kids. Look at yo daddy in his pink apron. _Bush was a disaster. _Nigga, so are you."

Hot outrage spread across the back of Lincoln's neck at the implication that he, Lana, and Lola _couldn't raise _their children. Leah and Leanne had everything they could ever want or need and he loved them dearly. Who was Timmy Taco to judge? He didn't even have children!

"Y'all the most dysfunctional ass motherfuckas I ever seen in my life. Imma have to jump in and play Dr. Phil _again, _huh?"

Shaking his head disappointedly, he started toward Leah and Leanne, who both stiffened. Palmer McBride climbed out of the tunnel, jumped into TT's path, and dusted himself off. TT snatched him by the back of his sweater and flung him aside; Palmer cried out, crashed into a table, and dropped to the floor. "'Cho ass out my way, nigga."

Palmer moaned, and Lana went over to help him up.

Leah's eyes widened fearfully and every muscle in her body locked. Leanne watched him with cool dispassion, her brow slightly arching in the faintest suggestion of curiosity. TT stood over her like Godzilla over a little anime loli and pulled his lips back from his sharp, cannibal teeth in a challenging sneer. Leanne returned his gaze, unfaltering, her hands curling defensively into fists in her lap.

They faced each other like two Old West gunslingers at high noon, then TT sniffed. "Lil blonde princess tell me you fucked in _yo _head, girl."

Leanne's eyes narrowed dangerously and she visibly searched for a response. Lincoln was starting to get antsy - Dino, TT, whatever he called himself, wasn't someone he exactly trusted around his daughters. The last time Lincoln saw him, in fact, he was waving a gun around and threatening to shoot everyone. He swallowed his fear and went over, Lola rushing to catch up. Lana helped Palmer into a chair, and he nodded his thanks, then whipped out his inhaler and took a hit.

"You gon be a serial killer when you grow up?" TT asked.

Leanne's eyes darted from his face to Lincoln's, and in them, he saw mild annoyance...and a hint of fear. "Alright, Dino," he said, "that's…"

TT shot out his arm and shoved Lincoln away. "Fuck you, nigga. Get out my grill." He retrained his focus on Leanne. "I said you gon be a serial killer when you grown up?"

"No," Leanne said indignantly, "they're just interesting."

TT issued an incredulous _umhm. _"You piss yo bed?"

Leanne's eyes flickered like candles in the wind. "No," she said, even though she did; she wet at least twice a week, sometimes three. On mornings after, she would poke her head into Lincoln, Lola, and Lana's room, then drag herself contritely through the door, her pajamas damp and her blanket trailing behind her. _I had a accident, _she'd say.

"Yes she does," Leah said, "she pees herself all the time."

The little girl shot her sister a withering look. Lana patted Palmer on the shoulder and walked over. "Leave her alone," she commanded.

TT waved her off. "Fuck you, I'm helpin yo ass. Stay quiet. How old you is, girl?"

"Eleven," Leanne said.

TT blew a raspberry. "Yeah, _that _ain't normal. Let me guess, you kill little animals, too, huh?"

Leanne swallowed thickly. She was starting to sweat. "No," she said.

Leah rolled her eyes. "Last week she found a baby bird in the backyard with a broken wing. She literally ripped the other one off to 'even him up.'"

A ripple of horror went through Lincoln's stomach. He didn't know his daughter did things like that.

"You set fires too, huh?"

TT looked at Leah for an answer, and she scrunched her lips in thought. "Hmmm, no, she doesn't do that."

"Two outta three," TT said. "That means you gon be a serial killer, lil girl. I been in the pen, you know what they do to serial killers in there?"

Leanne cocked her head curiously. "What?" she asked.

The giant leaned over, and Leah recoiled with a cry. He got so close to Leanne's face that their noses were almost touching. "You gon go in there like you somebody," he said in a menacing growl, "everyone gon know ya name and what you did. That's gon make you a target. You gon be the bitch to beat, and yo first day, someone gon get'cho ass. You gon be up in yo cell, tryna chill, then a buncha women gon come up in yo face and you gon wind up like Jeffrey Dahmer. You know what happened to him, right?"

She opened her mouth to respond, but he didn't give her the chance. "Some nigga cracked his skull _right _open. You know my boy Richard Speck?"

Leanne shook her head. "No, I don't know him."

TT grinned savagely. "They turned him into a woman. Made him take drugs that grew his titties, made him suck they dicks -"

"Alright," Lana said firmly, "that's enough. You made your point."

"That's gon be you, up in some fat woman bed, eatin her booty, gettin her tray, and they all gon laugh at yo ass." He poked the tip of her nose. Her eyes were wide with horror and her jaw hung slack. "You won't be so big and bad then. And everyone gon know it too. You might be a stone cold killa when you goin after someone smaller and weaker, but you gon be a straight bitch on the inside."

Lana flashed and grabbed his shoulder; he swatted her away like an annoying fly. "And all for what? You like killing people? Get'cho shit together and do what everyone else does. Join the po-po or the army. That way you get paid to clap niggas. If you become a cop, you can shoot as many black niggas as you want and ain't no one gon say shit."

Leanne blinked, and the cogs and wheels in her mind began to turn. "I can?" she asked.

"Umhm. They gon love yo ass. Yo gon be on The Rush Limbaugh Show, gon get the keys to the city, nigga, you just gotta keep yo crazy ass a _little bit _in check."

She meditated on the matter, then grinned. "Now I wanna be a cop."

TT nodded and looked at Lana. "There, got yo girl wantin to protect and serve now. You welcome."

"No, you have her wanting to shoot black people and get away with it," Lana hissed through her teeth.

"I been doin that my whole life," TT said, "and look at me. I got it all."

She started to tell him he didn't have shit, but a man in a manager uniform leaned in from the dining room. "Hey, TT, second stall in the men's room is clogged again."

TT sagged his shoulder. "For real? Goddamn." He glanced at Leanne. "Keep ya nose clean. TT out."

With that, he turned and walked away.

* * *

Leah Loud stood against the wall of the long private dining room and scanned the crowd of kids swarming the snack table. She knew many of them from school, but there were a lot she didn't: Brothers, sisters, cousins, and friends of guests ranging in age from three to seventeen. One boy in particular held her interest. Roughly fifteen, he was tall and handsome with soft features, clear blue eyes, and lank black hair. He stood by the table with his hands on his hips and chatted with a girl from Leah's cheer squad named Kristy. Leah hated cheerleading but her mom insisted she do either that or dance lessons, and dancing is for fags.

Clamping her bottom lip between her teeth, Leah tilted forward to see his crotch over the table. He wore tight jeans and if she squinted, she could just see the faint outline of his junk. She nodded appreciatively to herself. Oh yeah.

As is normal for a girl her age, Leah was beginning to realize that boys didn't have cooties, that her thing (which she grew up calling a _front butt_) wasn't just for peeing, and that this sex thing wasn't as gross as she thought it was when she first heard about it. For three years, her hormones had been steadily rising and her body gradually maturing; her breasts were small, but her nipples could cut glass; her core tingled and leaked if she thought about certain things for too long; and the mysteries of what exactly is in a boy's pants had taken on a keen and urgent allure.

Leanne, who stood next to her and stared at a little girl with murder in her eyes, was starting to feel it too; Leah caught her playing with herself in their shared bedroom and joined in because why not? Her mother and _her _sister touched each other, so it was normal, right? She and Leanne fingered one another until her pussy was hot, pulsing, and coated in creamy girl cum, but she didn't like it very much. Mom and Aunt Lana might be a couple dykes, but she was straight, and only a boy could _really _get her randy.

She considered going to her father and whining until he bent her over the kitchen counter and popped her cherry, but eh, that was kind of gross even by her standards.

The search, then, continued, and every time she was in public she kept an eye out for a suitable boy to approach. All the time, the fire in her loins steadily grew, sometimes reaching fever pitch and keeping her awake at night, rubbing her thighs together and wishing it would cool so she could go to sleep.

Today, she wasn't as randy because she jilled off in the shower that morning, but if she kept checking out Mr. Hunky's package, she'd get there in no time at all.

She turned away and looked for her parents. Mom and Penelope stood by the end of the table and talked, and Dad caught up with Clyde across the room, both of them laughing over something probably lame. Her cake, pink with white frosting, sat in the middle of the table surrounded by plates of tacos, bowls of pinto beans, and stacks of fat burritos. She liked coming here because the food was good and it made her fart, which was her favorite way of getting back at Leanne when she acted like a weirdo. Leanne was usually calm, cool, and collected, but after a few really nasty rips, she gagged and staggered for the door like a girl the gas chamber. _There's your Auschwitz, you little creep. _

Yeah, Leanne liked Nazis too. Not because she was anti Jewish, but because she was a tryhard edgelord. That's why she acted like a psycho, to get attention. At least Leah thought so. Maybe she was wrong.

Doubt it, though, because Leah was _always _right.

Mr. Handsome looked up from his conversation, and their eyes locked. He smiled, and Leah's heart jumped into her throat.

Oh, yeah, come to mama.

A gas bubble expanded painfully in her stomach and she winced. She cocked her leg, prayed she didn't shit herself, and let out a wet sounding fart.

Leanne glanced at her from the corner of her eye, took a deep breath through her nose, and held it.

There, much better, now where were we?

The boy was coming toward her, ducking between people with a cute, winning smile on his face. Leah's center quivered (_boy at twelve'o'clock, we might get penetrated, girls!_) and she chewed her bottom lip seductively. Come and get me, big -

Then the stench hit her. Have you ever smelled raw sewage rotting in the summer sun? How about six million diapers fermenting in a pool of spoiled cottage cheese? Imagine that only worse, and you might begin to comprehend the warm, wretched, gag inducing reek that suddenly wound itself around Leah like a shroud. Leanne coughed and slapped her hand to her nose. "You stink."

Leah's heart sank. The cute guy was getting closer and the smell was so bad even _her _eyes were starting to water. To top it all off, the back of her panties felt wet, like she sharted. She clenched her butt to keep anything from seeping out, then threw a nervous glance behind her; no liquid ass dripped down the backs of her legs, so hopefully, it could wait until she got to the bathroom.

Smiling wider, the boy stopped, and donning a strained, toothy smile of her own, Leah sagged against the wall. It was getting worse. Could he smell it? God, she hoped not. Boys would put up with a lot from a girl like her since she was beautiful, but a fart right off the bat might be a little much.

He opened his mouth...and you could see the moment he imbiled her anal vapors: His pupils dialted, his lips parted, and his nose twitched. His skin turned light green and he cringed hard, his cheeks puffing out like he was going to puke. Leah's cheeks burned with embarrassment, but she forged on ahead anyway; maybe if she pretended not to notice, everything would be okay?

Or not. Pressing his hand to his chest, he staggered backwards and dry heaved. "Are you -?"

Her words cut off when a hot stream of watery puke exploded from his trembling lips and sprayed her bare legs. She gasped in surprise and jumped; molten liquid coursed down her skin and along the tops of her sandaled feet, the overpowering stench of stomach wafting into her nose and jamming itself into her brain. The boy clamped his hand to his mouth, shame and horror in his eyes, then spun and stumbled away. People turned and watched him go with either concern or mild interest. Leah stood there, too shocked to move, and Leanne cracked a sadistic grin. "Nice one," she said, impressed.

Leah's chest rose and fell with the tide of her stunned breathing. She looked down at her legs and feet; clear, silvery puke dribbled down her calves and dripped between her toes. The feeling of it on her flesh, sizzling and heavy, sent her heart pounding and her stomach fluttering. It felt...kind of good.

"Gross," she muttered, then pushed away from the wall. No one noticed it drying on her flesh as she made her way to the women's room, but she could feel it, and the more she did, the more she liked it.

In the bathroom, she grabbed a wad of paper towels from the dispenser, propped her right leg on the edge of the sinktop, and wiped herself off. Good going, Leah, a cute guy was totally into you and you farted him into throwing up on you. Susie Harris, one of the other girls on the cheer squad, already got to second base with her boyfriend, and Leah's best friend Chelsey Harper went all the way with hers - and here she was damned to be forever alone because boys are pussies who can't handle a little brapping.

Sighing, she wetted the paper towel, switched legs, and finished up. Done, she took her sandals off, the tile floor cold beneath her feet, and cleaned in between her dirt coated toes.

She couldn't lie, though, being thrown up on was kind of...hot?

Yeah...strange, but really satisfying too.

Hm.

She looked at the paper towels in her hand, sopping with water and gut juice, then brought it to her nose. She took a deep whiff, and the smell of cute guy's small intestines steeped her brain like an aphrodisiac. Ummm. She threw her head back and pressed it closer, then darted out her tongue and licked; the bitter, coppery tang of stomach acid coated her mouth. Her pussy stirred and a vision flashed across her mind's eye: Her kneeling naked in front of him, wearing nothing but her ponytail. He leaned forward, squinted sexily...then ralphed on her perky little tits. It splattered her chest and stomach in a hot, vile rush and she purred in the back of her throat. It trickled down her stomach then to the juncture of her thighs and…

In the mirror, her reflection was flushed and hazy eyed. She pressed her legs together and fought to wrestle control of herself from the jaws of arousal. She could worry about those thoughts later, right now she had cake to eat and presents to open. If she was lucky, Mr. Handsome would come back and they could French kiss the way she and Leanne did (Leanne was a trash kisser, btw). She could lick his teeth and catch the essence of his upchuck straight from the source.

Ummm, shiver.

When she was under control, she went back into the dining room. As she entered, a waitress bumped into her and Leah stumbled back. "Watch where you're going, _pequeña perra_."

Leah blinked. What?

The waitress, a tall, thin woman with her ratty black hair in pigtails and sharp, jagged teeth, glared at her with beady black eyes. A nametag over her left breast read RAMONA. Before Leah could reply, she shoulder checked her and disappeared down the hall. She went through a set of double doors opening onto the kitchen, and Leah glared.

Why are Mexicans so rude?

Shaking her head, she weaved her way through the crowd and found Leanne standing in the same spot, rocking back and forth on her heels and humming an airy tune. It was either _Edmund Kemper Had a Horrible Temper _by Macabre or _Bloodbath in Paradise _by Ozzy Osbourne. Those were the only two songs she liked because edgelord. Always memeing about being a serial killer. It was really sad.

Taking up position next to her, Leah crossed her arms over her chest and looked for her father. Was it time to open presents yet? Jeez, she was starting to get impatient. "Did you wipe your butt?" Leanne asked.

Darn.

"No, I forgot."

Snaking her hand behind her, she slipped it into the back of her underwear and ran her fingers through her moist-with-sweat ass crack. She cocked her hips, squinted one eye determinedly, and swiped every inch. She pulled her hand out and checked it for signs of shartage. "We're good," she said.

The Universe must have heard her challenge, for at that moment, Palmer McBride walked over with a lopsided smile, and suddenly they weren't so good anymore. Tall and stringy with a protruding Adam's apple, big, dorky glasses, and a flattop that put Leah in mind of a pencil eraser, Palmer strutted, knees bending exaggeratedly, and nodded deeply. He stopped, popped an imaginary collar, and blew a puff of air into his cupped hand. He winced at the character of his halitosis, but came on anyway. Leah sighed and threw her head back.

Palmer was the biggest geek in the world, and when they went to school together, he got bullied so much it flew past sad and started being funny. To be fair, he brought most of it on himself by being the biggest autist in Royal Woods. He ran up and down the halls with his arms thrown back like Naurto or something, and wore light up Sketchers until he was thirteen. One time a kid took his mechanical pencil away and Palmer sperged like a 4channer. _Give it baaaaaaaack! _Another time, a group of jocks surrounded another kid in the hall, messing with him, and Palmer popped up out of nowhere; in that high, annoying voice, _Bullying is wrong, fellas. Let's break it up. _They gave him an atomic wedgie and shoved him into a locker. Another time, he was showering in the locker room when a bunch of boys ran in, grabbed him, and dragged him kicking and screaming into the hall, leaving him in a wet heap. The bell rang, and a thousand kids flooded the corridor just in time to see him naked. One kid in particular went really hard on him, and one day Palmer went up to him at lunch, challenged him to a fight, then threw a high level Pokemon card down on the table. _Got'cha, _he grinned.

The kid hit him in the stomach with an uppercut that lifted Palmer three feet off the ground, then shoved him into a table. _I took it easy on him, _Palmer said later. He used to hit on all the girls, and they each turned him down in the most humiliating ways imaginable. One said she'd rather go gay then go out with him, and another called him baby dick. One girl pretended to go out with him, then when he sent her a shirtless pic of himself flexing like he died in the Holocaust, she sent it to everyone in school.

It wouldn't have been so bad if he didn't act like he was hot stuff. He was so painfully _not _that his inability to see it was both perplexing and amusing. He was like a character in a bad sitcom...that the network canceled after one half season and his voice was so annoying it made Leah's ears spurt blood.

"Hiya, ladies," he said. He thrust his crotch out like Michael Jackson and rocked back on his heels. He jammed his thumbs through the straps of his suspenders and looked from Leah to Leanne and back again. Leanne fixed him with a sly, icy glint and, presumably, dreamt up a thousand ways to kill him. "You're both looking awfully lovely today. Especially you, my pet," he winked at Leah, and Leah recoiled.

Look up _cringefest _in the dictionary, and you'll see a gif of that very moment playing on an endless and pathetic loop.

"Uh...thanks," Leah said. He might deserve all the teasing he got, but deep down, Leah felt just a _little _bad for him (he was probably literally autistic) and couldn't bring herself to be _too _mean to him.

She wished she could, though. He had a little puppy love crush on her and ew, he was the _last _boy she wanted. Maybe if all the other ones who dead...maybe.

He whipped out his inhaler and took a deep breath. "So...I hear it's your birthday. I just so happened to bring you the best gift ever."

"What's that?" Leah asked, part of her wanting to know because she liked material things, and another not.

Palmer batted his eyelashes. "My affections."

Yuck. "Oh," Leah said, her voice strained, "you shouldn't have. You _really _shouldn't have."

"It's no trouble at all, m'lady. The pleasure is _all _mine."

Leah bared her teeth in an uncomfortable smile and looked at Leanne for help. Leanne saw her plea for intervention and, like the Virgin Mary, interceded on her behalf. "Hey, Palmer," she piped up, "wanna play a game?"

"What kind of game, my little tiger lily?"

"Turn around," she said.

Palmer grinned. "If you insist." He spun around in a swish of cardigan and closed his eyes. "I am all yours."

"Good," Leanne said. She reached over, grabbed a knife from the table, and grinned evilly. Leah's heart leapt as the little girl raised the weapon over her head, light flashing on the blade like quicksilver. At the last minute, she shot out her hand closed it around Leanne's wrist, and stopped her. Leanne thrashed in her grasp, small but strong; Leah wrapped her forearm around her neck to keep her from breaking free and pulled her into a sleeper hold. Leanne stomped hard on her foot, and pain streaked up her leg. Hissing, Leah retaliad by digging her nails into Leanne's wrist.

"Let go," Leah whispered.

"Get off of me," Leanne spat.

With no other options left, Leah pulled her arm tighter around her sister's neck. The little girl gagged and her eyes strained from her sockets. Palmer rocked back and forth, completely obvious for the struggle over his life raging not three feet behind him. "The decor here is nothing short of romantic, don't you think, my precious Caucasian princess?"

"Yeah," Leah grunted. Her muscles strained and her teeth clenched. Leanne writhed desperately, the fight slowly draining out of her. Finally, the knife fell from her hand and clattered to the floor. Leah released her and reflexively kicked it under the table. Leanne sank to her hands and knees and gasped for breath, her back rising and falling. In the rush and whirl of activity, no one had noticed their altercation.

Palmer, perhaps sensing something amiss, jerked a glance over his shoulder, and arched his brows when he saw Leanne on the floor. "Is something the matter, my blonde haired angel?"

Leanne staggered to her feet and rubbed her neck. "Nope," Leah said, forestalling her sister's reply, "we were just playing Boston Strangler." Leanne glared, but Leah ignored her.

"We're gonna play BTK when we get home," Leanne grumbled.

"What does BTK mean?" Palmer asked

Leanne smoothed the front of her blouse. "Bind, torture -"

Palmer tilted forward and smirked. "Kiss?"

"Kill," Leanne corrected impatiently.

Palmer went on grinning. "You know," he said, "to die has often been employed as a literary euphemism for -"

"Alright!" Lana called from the head of the room, drawing everyone's attention. "Time for cake and presents!"

Ooooh, finally. Giddy with excitement, Leah shoved Palmer out of the way, and Leanne kicked him in the shin for the hell of it. He let out a strangled cry and tripped over his own feet, landing hard on his back with a breathless _oof_. Leanne smirked then skipped off, her middle finger raised proudly over her shoulder. Palmer gaped after her, and a slow smile spread across his lips. "She wants me," he said with absolute certainty.

Damn, he was _smooth. _


	2. Disgusting, Demeaning, and Hot

Every morning, Lincoln rose promptly at 6am, brewed a pot of coffee, made breakfast, and packed the girl's lunches. He worked quickly and clad in a pink apron passed down from his father. _Son, _Dad told him once, _this thing has saved my clothes from spills for many a'year...now she's yours. _Some might say being a stay at home father was demeaning and "cuck" ish, but Lincoln delighted in keeping house and caring for his daughters. The world was a cold, harsh place, why go out into it and assent to its rigors and demands when you can remain in the home? Let Lana and Lola deal with the never ending rat race, office politics, and cutthroat competition, he'd hold down the fort and happily play house-husband.

At the stove, he cracked an egg into a hot pan, and relished the satisfying sizzle it made. No greater feeling than preparing a nourishing meal for your family...except for the weekly pamper days Lola and Leah gave him. Lola insisted that every Friday, he take the evening off and let her spoil him - manicures, pedicures, back rubs, and, at the end of the night, a blowjob so good it made him call her Mommy.

Leah wasn't involved in those, however. What do you think he is, some kind of pervert?

The first of the girls to wake was Lana; she came into the kitchen in tattered, paint spackled jeans, muddy work boots (she was always tracking dirt across his clean floor), and a green work shirt with HELLMAN HOME IMPROVEMENT on the right breast in white. Her messy blonde hair was tucked under a blue Yankees cap and her tool pouch was slung casually over one shoulder. "Hey, Linc," she said. She came over, kissed the side of his face, and squeezed his butt, making him jump with a high pitched squeal.

"Stop," he giggled, "it's way too early for _that._"

She grinned against his cheek; her hot breath made his skin tingle, and her hands running over his hips and butt was beginning to turn him on. He leaned his head back into the crook of her neck, and she kissed his cheek, his throat, her hands snaking around his front and stroking his rapidly growing erection. "It's never too early for a little lovin'," she said huskily. She slipped her rough, work-calloused hand under his shirt and grazed her nails up his quivering stomach. Lincoln mewled in the back of his throat, then whimpered sadly when she pulled away, taking her warmth and touch with her. "If only I had the time."

Turning, she crossed to the table and dropped into a chair. Sitting with her knees spread far apart, she thrust her hand into her pants like Al Bundy and let out a reverberating belch. Lincoln's body ached for release, but with a resigned sigh, he went back to work.

When the food was done, he loaded a plate and brought it to her: Eggs (sunny side up), bacon, sausage, and white toast cut diagonally, just the way she liked it. She smiled and rubbed her hands together. "Thanks, Linc, you're the best." She picked up her fork, then frowned like something was the matter. "Except…"

"What?" Lincoln asked.

She looked up at him. "I'm in the mood. Can you mama bird me?"

For most people, _in the mood _meant they wanted sex. Lana _always _wanted sex, so it wasn't a mood to her as much as it was a state of being. When _she _used that phrase, it meant she was in the mood for being nasty.

Years ago, when they first began their clandestine incest relationship, Lincoln was appalled by the character of his little sister's kinks. She enjoyed being peed on, puked on, fucked with vegetables, having her vagina smeared with beans and Jell-O then eaten, having her mouth used as a toilet (for number two), and, later on, being whipped, choked, beaten, tied up, and bitten. Over time, he thawed to them, and came, in some small way, to enjoy them. When he pissed on Lana, he was strong and powerful in a way he wasn't the rest of the time, and throttling her while ramming her raw, bloody pussy was really cartheric. He just thought of the last time she left her dirty underwear on the floor for him to pick up or dribbled piss on the commode, then really let her have it. One time she even passed out, and another she came so hard her body clamped around his dick and wouldn't let go for nearly ten minutes. He thought they were going to have to make a trip to the emergency room.

One of her old standbys was being mama birded, an activity that Lincoln found endlessly romantic despite its yuck factor. He touched her cheek and smiled down at her. "Of course I can."

A giddy simper touched her lips. "Thanks, Lincoln."

He picked up a piece of toast, took a bite, and chewed it thoroughly. When it was wet and mushy, he leaned over, and Lana tilted her head back. He laid his hand on her cheek, threaded his fingers through her hair, and lightly skimmed her lips; their noses brushed, their breaths mingled, and their eyes gazed deeply into each other. He cocked his head to one side, their lips still touching, and she opened her mouth. He pushed the food out and past her teeth with his tongue, then traced her lips. She shivered and swallowed; her breathing was ragged, her eyes misty. "More," she whispered.

Lincoln took another bite, chewed, then fused their lips together. Looking deeply into her limpid browns, he spat it in, and she flicked her tongue against his. He kissed her back, the lump of soggy bread swishing from one mouth to another like a declaration of love. She cupped his face in her hands and deepened the kiss, her tongue wiggling frantically around his like a worm in heat. She pulled away, panting and flushed, just as Lola came in, dressed in a pink blouse and black skirt. "Finish breakfast," she said and grabbed Lincoln by the front of his shirt, "I'm gonna fucking ravage him."

Before either Lincoln or Lola could respond, Lana jumped to her feet, scooped Lincoln into her arms like a firewoman rescuing a male damsil in distress, and sprinted him to the bedroom. Lincoln snuggled up to her ample bosom and rejoiced in the feeling of her strong arms around him, safe and protected like a little boy held close by his mother. In the room, she tossed him onto the bed, and he bounced with an exclamation, part alarm and part delight. She hurriedly unbuttoned her jeans and pulled them down her shapely legs. "Take your pants off," she ordered.

Her authoritative tone made Lincoln quake like jelly. He pulled his pants and underwear down, and his rigid dick popped out like a quivering colossus. Lana whipped her panties down, the top of her dark and sacred slit just visible between her fleshy thighs. Still in her shirt and cap, she jumped onto the bed, swung her leg over his hips, and mounted him like an eager horsewoman. Her satiny lips glanced the tip of his dick, and he moaned at the dank humidity wafting from her center - of the twins, Lana was the hotter, her genitals like an overactive oven constantly on the highest setting.

She pinned his shoulders to the bed and jerked down, sheathing him to the hilt. Her core bubbled around his shaft and her cervix kissed his head like greeting an old friend. He let out a trembling _nngh~ _and arched his back, prodding her limit and making her suck a sharp intake of breath through her teeth, pleasure mixed with pain and tempered with mind-blasting desire. She bent forward, pushing him deeper into the mattress, and set a frenetic, blinding pace, her wet walls pumping his rod and a grunt rupturing from his lips every time her pubic mound slammed into his. Her face hovered inches above his, her features rippling, contorting, and wrinkling as ethiopia surged through her. Lincoln reached around, grabbed her ass cheeks in both hands, and dug his nails into her soft flesh. "Fuck, God," she spat, spittle flying from her lips.

"You're so good," Lincoln sputtered.

"Say my name."

"Lana."

"Say it louder, bitch."

She jammed herself down, their hips coming flush. They both cried out, Lana wordlessly and Lincoln with a breaking, "Laaaa-aaana!"

She went faster, the friction of skin-on-skin making Lincoln purr. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes widened. "I'm gonna c-c-cum."

"Me too," Lincoln moaned.

"Give it to me," she urged.

"Kiss me," Lincoln said.

Lana molded her lips to his and lashed his tongue with hers. The tender contact, an island of intimacy in a sea of lust, pushed him over the edge. He wrapped his legs around her hips and held tight, his dick swelling painfully inside of her and pushing her pelvic muscles apart. She cried out, then gasped when his nut blasted the back of her womb like the opening salvo of a World War. She slid her hips up, then down, then shook like a holy roller at a Benny Hinn revival as her own orgasm consumed her. "Motherfuck…" she moaned. Lincoln fired another volley deep into her middle; it overflowed and oozed down his working dick in thick, silvery rivers.

For a long time, Lana lay limply on top of him, panting for breath, then she kissed his neck, then his shoulder, moving down his body and watching him with sultry eyes. She reached his dick, coated in their combined juices, and took it into her mouth. Lincoln brushed his teeth over his bottom lip and raised his butt off the bed, shuddering at velvety feeling of her throat on his apex. She cradled his balls and gently kneaded them as she worked his shaft, sucking him and her off of him and swallowing it with tiny sighs of nirvana. She spat him out, gripped him at his base, and licked his head like a little girl with a lollipop. She cocked her head, kissed his underside, and curled her lips around it. "I love the way we taste," she panted. She licked him from bottom to top, savoring the flavor of their combined fluids, and Lincoln watched her, getting turned on all over again. Lola had a far better technique, but what Lana lacked in that department she more than made up for in gusto. When she blew him, she treated his dick the way a revenant Catolic might treat a holy altar, worshipping him with her lips and singing songs of praise with her gilded tongue.

Taking him as far as she could, Lana gagged, and thin, hot stomach bile rushed over him, ripping a gasp from his chest. She sucked it up with an obscene slurp, and Lincoln could take no more: His load rushed out of him and splashed down the back of Lana's throat, some mixing with vomit and falling from her chin in thick droplets. Lincoln held her head in place and thrusted into her mouth, delivering his second spurt straight to her stomach. She waited until he was dead, slathered in sweat and panting, before drawing back and grinning up at him, her lips shimmering with his seed. "That was hot," she said.

"Yeah," he said and brushed his fingers through his hair. He was hot, shaky, and quivering all over. Swallowing, he planted his elbows into the mattress and drew himself to a sitting position; Lana gave his dick a quick kiss as it passed, and got to her feet.

When Lincoln saw Leah standing in the doorway, her eyes wide with horror, a chunk of ice dropped into his stomach. "Nothing like a good morning fuck to get your day started right," Lana said and reached for her pants, completely ignorant to her niece's presence. "I'm gonna be leaking in my undies all day. Umm, I love that feeling."

Realizing his deflating dick was on full display, he covered it with his hand and scrambled to hide himself from his daughter's sight. Lana glanced up, saw the girl, and missed a beat. "Uh...hey," she said awkwardly. "Just, uh...how much did you see?"

Coming alive, Leah threw up her hand to shield her eyes. "_Too _much," she said and stalked off.

Burning shame splashed across Lincoln's face, and guilt weighed down his chest like a ton of rocks. He, Lana, and Lola were usually very careful not to let the girls see them in any compromising positions, and now that Leah had, his body bared to her innocent and traumatized gaze, he felt like the biggest slime ball on the face of the earth.

Lana pulled her pants up, did the button, and sat on the edge of the bed to put her boots on. Heavy with the stain of his sin, Lincoln got up and grabbed his underwear. "Don't worry about it, Linc," Lana said and stood, "shit happens."

"She saw my...my dick," Lincoln moaned.

"Gotta learn sometime, I guess," Lana said. She came over, pecked his lips, and groped his crotch. "I gotta run. Love you."

Lincoln sighed. "Love you too."

When she was gone, he pulled his pants on and slunk into the kitchen, head castigatedly down. Lola, Leah, and Leanne sat at the table, Lola with her legs crossed and a mug of coffee raised to her lips, Leanne presiding over a bowl of cereal (she liked to imagine the oates were drowning victims bobbing dead in the surf), and Leah looking pointedly away from him. His stomach twisted and the back of his neck tingled with embarrassment. Should he try and talk to her? Later, probably, but not right now; he was so humiliated he could barely keep from shaking.

"I made you a plate," Lola said.

"I-I'm not hungry," Lincoln stammered. Would she be upset if she knew he practically flashed their daughter? Probably not, she'd say something much like Lana had and try to make him feel better. He opened his mouth to say something more, but swallowed his words instead. "I have something to do," he said, "have a good day, love you."

With that, he rushed out of the room and hid until Leah was gone.

* * *

Royal Woods Elementary sat on a wide parcel of land between Haggerty Park and a dense stand of pine trees. An archaic two story building, brick with casement windows, a slate roof, and battered white trim, it reminded Leanne Loud of a mental hospital she saw in a movie once. The patients broke out of their cells, killed all of the doctors, then escaped and spread out into a nearby town like cancer cells in a body. It was awesome and if her parents didn't put dumb child safety filters on her phone, she'd watch it every night before bed so that sweet sounds of carnage carried her sweetly to sleep.

Anyway, the school totally looked like the asylum from the movie, and every day as she approached, she imagined it smoking, on fire, and swarmed with crazed inmates in blood splattered white gowns, one wearing someone's face as a mask here, and another spinning gleefully in circles there. Sometimes she pretended she was a cop or a National Guardswoman responding to the situation...with deadly force, mowing everything down with a machine gun, then throwing grenades, then finally mopping up with her trusty Colt .45.

When it came to killing people, guns were effective, but by no means her favorite instrument. The fun part is getting up close and personal; what satisfaction can you take from standing at a distance and blowing someone's head off? That's dumb. If _she _killed someone, she'd want it to be with her bare hands, or a knife; she wanted to _feel _the blood on her hands, and stare into their eyes the moment their soul disincoprotates. She wanted to feel them fight and thrash and maybe even to lick the tears from their faces. *Smacks lips* She didn't understand what someone like the Son of Sam got from shooting people but, eh, it had to be something. Better than sending mail bombs and not evening _seeing _your victim die. The Unabomber did that and had to check the news like everyone else.

Gay.

As she and Leah started for school that Monday morning, Leah in a fashionable pink overcoat and she in a blazer and skirt, she thought ahead to school. There was a cute boy named Tad in her class and she really wanted to kiss him, but like Edmund Kemper, she'd probably have to kill him first. She didn't feel like doing that right now, so no kissing for her.

That was okay, though, her thoughts were much better than any boy alive (or dead). When she first started having them years ago, they were fun and pleasant, but lately, they made her feel funny in her stomach and tingly...down there. Her favorite fantasy was the one where everyone in town was dead and their bodies strewn around like bits of garbage. In it, she went from corpse to corpse, looking down at every one and getting more and more fluttery until she came to her first boy. Her eyes were drawn to his crotch and she looked around. There was no one to tell her no, and _he _wouldn't stop her, so she knelt, leaned over him, and felt his thing through his pants.

She had other, dirtier ones, but she only thought about those late at night, and even then only if she allowed herself. Self-control was a very important thing and she exerted it wherever she could. Most people indulge themselves like the braindead pigs they are, but not her. She was smarter and mentally stronger, and being in full possession of her faculties at all times was a way to revel in that fact.

Of course...she _was _still just a little girl, and if she slipped from time to time...oopsie daisy. She didn't let herself slip too much...or too far...not after last time. She and a girl from school were playing in the woods and came to a rock outcropping that commanded a sweeping view of the rolling forest to the west of town. Leanne leaned over the side and looked down, judging the distance to be close to fifty feet. She wondered what would happen if she pushed her friend off...so she did. The way she screamed and flapped her arms like a big, featherless bird made Leanne giggle, and the way her body hit the ground _(THUMP!) _made her wince.

Leaving her for dead, Leanne skipped home, but she wasn't dead. She came to and staggered away hours later. Thankfully, she had a really bad concussion and couldn't remember anything. Whew. For a second there I thought I was a goner, hehehe.

She didn't take risks like that anymore, especially now that she was considering a different career path. Up until Leah's birthday party, she thought she would go on to become the Royal Woods Ripper, but now she was seriously thinking about becoming a cop. The clown was right, you know, she could kill people and pass it off as doing her job. _He had a gun, Chief, I swear, it was awful. I think I need grief counseling now. _Who will people believe, an upstanding officer of the law or a crackhead with a rap sheet longer than _War & Peace? _The cop, duh. It was so clear to her now. And all it took was being shown the light by a clown. Most kids are afraid of clowns, but she greatly admired them. One, because they inspired such fear in people (even adults) and two, because one of her favorite serial killers of all time, John Wayne Gacy, moonlighted as a clown. You can trust clowns, they're on the level.

If she wanted to become a cop and carry out murders with impunity, she had to exert more self-control than usual; if she slipped, she'd ruin her chances of joining the force, and have to settle for being a basic bitch killer.

You know, if she _did _become a cop, she could kill in her off time then, in her official capacity, divert suspicion, destroy evidence, and frame innocent people. Talk about taking your game to the next level!

"...your mom was all over him," Leah was saying, and Leanne realized she'd been talking this entire time. They were three blocks from school on a residential side street; tall trees overhung the sidewalk and lumpy terrain sloped down to a waist high stone wall lining the way. Gangs of kids followed the opposite sidewalk, mainly middle schoolers with a few high schoolers thrown in for variety. Leanne spied a really cute guy in a gray hoodie, and the urge to shove him into traffic and watch him disappear beneath the big tires of an eighteen wheeler came over her like a cool summer breeze.

Leah fisted her hands to her chest and gave a body wide shudder of revulsion. Leanne arched one brow; Leah was a drama queen and God alone knew what she was crying about this time. "It was awful," the older girl said.

"What was?" Leanne asked.

Leah shot her an irritated look. "Weren't you listening?"

"No."

Leah threw her head back and let out a long-suffering sigh. Leanne's eyes went to her bared throat. So soft. So strangleable. If she jerked a serrated blade across it, hot blood would spurt out, and imagining the way it'd feel on her face and chest made her panties feel tight. She bit her bottom lip to dispel the vision. No, bad Leanne. You don't kill family members...even if you _can _get away with it...which you can't, because everyone already thinks you're a weirdo. "I said I walked in on Dad having sex with your mom." She pinched her brow. "Well, actually, your mom having sex with Dad."

"Hm."

They were at an intersection now. Traffic whizzed by in either direction and ahead, the pitched roof of the schoolhouse rose above the barren treetops. "That's all?" Leah pressed. "_Hm? _I saw everything!" She threw one hand up for emphasis.

"I'm sorry?" Leanne asked. "I really don't know what you want from me."

"A little support would be nice."

Sigh. See? Drama queen. "Okay, Leah," Leanne said with strained patience, "are you okay? Will you survive?"

"I can't stop thinking about it," Leah said in a rush, "it was...it was really hot." That last word came out as a terrible admission, and her cheeks turned pink.

Leanne favored her blankly. "So...you're hot for Dad now?"

Leah's eyes widened in horror and she held her hands up. "No, no! I just...I mean...the...the sex itself. I saw it going in and your mom's pussy lips spreading and…" she trailed off and faced forward again. The ped light changed from red to green and they crossed. "Yeah...it was so fucking hot."

Sex didn't hold much interest for Leanne but the mental image Leah's words conjured _was _kind of nice. Not as nice as her own thoughts, but nice enough. That time Leah fingered her and sucked her nipple felt really good, although it wasn't all that great. Leanne discovered that night that she was a biter and the first time she nipped Leah's arm, she squealed and threw a little hissy fit. She envisioned Dad's penis (not knowing what one really looked like, she pictured it as long and smooth like a cucumber) sliding deep into her mom's thing, and Mom leaning over to clamp her teeth down on Dad's neck; in her middle, something stirred, and her lips swelled even tighter against her panties.

If something didn't come along and turn her off, she'd spend the rest of the day bothered and hot.

God heard her, and He answered.

"Hiya, ladies."

Leah and Leanne both _froze_. They exchanged a mortified glance, then looked over their shoulders. Palmer McBride, dressed in a dark blue cardigan sweater jacket over a red and green plaid shirt tucked into Dockers with ankles so high they were practically caprices. One arm was thrown back, hand splayed, like a vaudevillian wrapping up his big number, and the other was thrust out in front of him and clutching a bouquet of flowers. A grin ran across his chapped lips and he winked. "I got you girls something. Think of it as a token of my affections."

If Leanne had a knife she could ram it into his sternum easy. If she did it at an angle, she might even hit his heart. The quicker the heart stops, the less blood there will be.

Hm. Maybe she'd aim for his liver instead.

"Uh...I didn't know your parents let you out of the house," Leah said haltingly.

"An independent gentleman such as myself comes and goes at his own discretion," Palmer said and took a sliding step forward - Leah and Leanne both took a step back. "Plus, my mother needed milk." He held the flowers out. "Due to financial constraints, I'm afraid I could only afford one. I hope you don't mind sharing these as you share my designs."

He shoved them into Leah's hand and her face screwed up in disdain. "Thanks."

"You're more than welcome, my scrumptious snickerdoodle." He plucked a carnation out and held it out to Leanne. It was pink, frilly, and full of life.

She instantly wanted to crush it.

"In the blushing bloom of its beauty," he said, spit flying from his lips as he stumbled over his words, "just like you."

Leanne looked from it to his face, and he smiled hopefully. She made no move to take it, and he shook it enticingly back and forth. _You know you want it. _No, no she did not. When it grazed her nose, she snapped, snatched it away, and flung it to the ground. Staring straight into his eyes, she stomped it into the concrete, and he winced. She ground it vigorously beneath her heel, and his hand fluttered dramatically to his chest. She lifted her foot and slammed it down, savoring the kill, and Palmer looked strickenly around (_is anyone else seeing this?)_. Leah smiled sheepishly and raised her arms in a _beats me _gesture.

"I don't like flowers," Leanne said. She reared back her leg and kicked the flattened remains at him; they hit his shoe and skitted sadly off to one side. He gaped down at it with wobegon eyes, and satisfied that he was emotionally hurt, she spun on her heels and marched off.

Leah stayed behind, her teeth bared in sympathy and her eyes darting between Palmer and the dead flower. He hung his head, slumped his shoulders, and heaved a deep sigh. He might be literally the most irritating creature on the face of the earth, but that was really harsh and now she felt bad for him. Well, even more bad, since with someone like him, pity is your default emotion. She cast a longing look over her shoulder at her sister's retreating back and sighed. Maybe she should just go. He'd be okay. Kids had done far worse to him than stepping on a flower - like stipping him to his underwear and hanging him from the flagpole, spitting in his lunch, and sticking his head in the toilet. She glanced at him, and he wheezed another sigh. He pulled his inhaler out, fumbled it to his lips, and took a hit.

For a moment, she was torn...then the nugget of compassion she inherited from her father won out. She went over and gave his shoulder a very stiff, very light pat, the palm of her hand barely touching him. "There, there," she said, "Leanne just, uh...she's allergic to flowers." She smiled prettily, hoping he'd buy it.

"It's okay," he said and sniffed, "just another setback. I'm used to them."

Well...have you considered being less autistic?

She searched for a response to that, but didn't have one. Of course he was used to setbacks, he was Palmer McBride, the Setback Kid, the Amazing Autist, the only person in Royal Woods who wasn't in on the joke. He didn't have particularly bad luck (that she knew of), but he was goofy, kinda klutzy, and...God, just look at him. He's a wreck who thinks it's a brand new Bently, she didn't have it in her to make fun of the guy, but damn, she couldn't really blame anyone who did. Talk about victim shaming all you want, but some really _are _asking for it.

"That's, uh...that's the spirit, keep your head up."

She took her hand away and reflexively blotted it on her coat. Palmer nodded resolutely to himself and took a deep breath. "I won't allow a minor faux paus to hinder me. Would you like a gentleman escort to school, m'lady? That way you will arrive -" here he leaned in and smiled, and Leah leaned back " - unmolested." He waggled his brows suggestively, and though Leah understood the classic definition of the word _molest _(basically _to bother_), she couldn't help but think of, um, the _other, _more modern meaning. If he weren't frail, ashmeatic, and bow legged, she'd almost be afraid of him dragging her into a bush and trying something.

"Uh...I don't know, I mean…"

He watched her with big, hopeful eyes, and she felt herself giving in. Darn it. She could handle being beautiful and profoundly intelligent (and otherwise perfect), but her boundless compassion, keen ability to empathize, and all-around good-personnes made life really hard sometimes. "Okay," said said and looked nervously around, hoping to God none of her friends saw, "but you have to walk behind me."

Palmer grinned salaciously. "Your wish is my command, m'lady."

She flashed a wan smile, then turned around and started walking, her steps quick and sharp, the heels of her Italian leather boots clicking like horse hooves. If she sped up, she could lose him; with those clunky shoes of his, he'd never be able to keep up. _M'lady...huff...wait, I *inhaler* seem to be falling...wheeze...behind_. She spared a look over her shoulder, and Palmer followed at a strut, leaning heavily to one side and openly staring at her ass, his tongue swiping salaciously across his bottom lip. Leah's nose crinkled and she cleared her throat. Palmer started and stood up straight...or what passed for straight with him; back deeply bowed, hips thrust out, walking on his tippy toes, looking like he was going to fall over at any second. "Just checking to make sure the way is clear, my tasty sugar tart."

Color crept up the back of her neck and she fought down the urge to rip his head off. "Stop calling me those names and stop looking at my butt."

"I wasn't -"

"Yes you were."

He opened his mouth, then snapped it closed when he realized he couldn't defend himself. Shrugging, he said, "Your butt is very nice."

Leah started to snap, but blushed instead. Her butt _was _really cute and it made her proud when people noticed, even Palmer. But still, a cute guy looking at it was okay, a dork drooling over it was _not_. Because...well…

"Thank you," she said and faced forward again. She could feel his eyes slithering over her rump and her blush deepened. He was gross and creepy and a huge freaking dork, and she just knew if she looked back he'd be leering at her like a pervert...and was she suddenly crazy, or was that kind of...hot?

Oh, God, she was so pent up she was starting to think Palmer McBride was hot? She needed a boyfriend _fast_.

In that instant, she decided to get one.

Being as stunningly beautiful, bubbly, and amazing as she was, that would be pathetically easy. Getting him home and playing with her pussy (at the very least) would be just a _little _more difficult since Dad would be there, but he was kind of a pushover, so he'd probably let her take a boy into her room and close the door. If not, a little whining and foot stomping should do the trick.

She stopped at an intersection and waited for traffic. The middle school was five blocks ahead on the right. It was newer than the elementary school, and small too, a low brick and glass construct with a covered breezeway bordering its facade and an athletic field that other school districts envied. Not that the Royal Woods Raptors did much winning on it; every Friday night during football season, they were trounced by a new opponent, sometimes so bad the newspaper covered it in the obituary section instead of on the sports page. Each boy on the team was basically Palmer expect better looking. During games, as she stood on the sidelines with her pom poms in her hands, waiting to go out and jump around like a jackass, she entertained fantasies of them taking her into the locker room with them afterwards - fifteen strong, virile boys standing around her in a circle, steaming water beating down on their toned, naked bodies. She knelt in the center, nude, and moved from one dick to another, sucking, licking, touching, stroking -

Something brushed her arm and she jumped. Palmer stood next to her, his thumbs threaded through the straps of his suspenders, and scanned the street. "Making sure it's safe for you to cross, my scrumptious little strudel."

Leah rolled her eyes.

The light changed, and Palmer held out swept his arms out with a flourish, resembling a royal usher. "After you."

Ignoring him, Leah hurried through the crosswalk. On the other side, she picked up the pace. She glanced behind her, and Palmer minced along with his eyes firmly on her rear.

He wasn't _so _bad. A little scrawny, maybe, but if he put a bag over his head, she could pretend it was someone else. You know what they say about black men, they're supposed to be really big. She flashed back to that morning, her aunt Lana slowly sinking herself onto Dad's jutting dick, and her core pinched. She glanced back at Palmer; he took wide steps, his knees bending and his shoulders shrugging one at a time, up, down, up, down. The whole time, he eye-fucked her ass like a hungry dog, literally drooling down his chin. She flicked her gaze to his crotch, and when she saw the thick bulge, her mouth fell open in a perfect O of shock, repulsion...and desire.

Whipping back around, she picked up her step until she was practically running. "M'lady!" Palmer cried. He held up his index finger like he was trying to hail a taxi, and started after. He looked like a cartoon character slipping and trying to keep his balance, and Leah ran faster. "Wait! I seem to be falling behind!"

Leah looked back one final time just as he tripped over his feet and sprawled face first with a pained _oof. _Her pace slowed and she came to a stop; her face was flushed and her breasts rose and fell with the tide of her ragged exhilations. Palmer twitched like a dying bug and let out a broken moan. Her heart told her to go help him up, but her brain told her if she did that, she'd run the risk of doing something she'd regret. Like touching his dick. And once she started the slide, she probably wouldn't stop until she fell.

Pussy first.

Onto his cock.

She shivered. The idea of sex with Palmer McBride was disgusting, demeaning, and filled her with self-loathing and shame.

In other words...it was hot. Temperature of one-oh-three.

For a moment, she lingered, so confused and conflicted her head spun, then she turned around and fled, leaving Palmer behind in body, but not in mind.

* * *

Shortly before noon, Lincoln left the house, climbed into his 2031 Prius, and drove to the Save-a-Lot across town. The sky had grown gray and leaden and before he was even off of Franklin, snow flurries began to drift from its bosom. The weatherman on ABC was calling for six inches by Wednesday and thankfully, shoveling, like all other forms of yard work, fell into Lana's purview. She was stronger than him anyway, so he was more than happy to do the dishes while she shoveled, mowed, and did all the other heavy lifting.

In his, Lana, and Lola's relationship, there was no designated head of household - they were all equal - but if Lincoln had to say, Lana largely played that role. She worked long, hard hours (making more money than Lola), sat in her armchair, groused when dinner wasn't on the table and her shirts weren't ironed, and carried out all of the tasks traditionally associated with the Father. Lincoln and Lola shared the more motherly duties, with Lincoln far better at them since he grew up with so many younger sisters. It was an odd and iconoclastic arrangement, but one that suited him just fine; it was high time women took their rightful place at the top of society's food chain, and he was more than willing to step aside and let that happen.

He pulled into the parking lot fronting the building and guided the car into a slot between a pick-up truck and an Altima. He cut the engine, got out, and grabbed the cloth shopping bags from the back seat. He watched a documentary about global warming recently and was simply appalled, so he instantly shifted his family as far into the green zone as possible. They recycled, composted, used electricity sparingly, and bought organic where they could with an emphasis on fair trade and locally sourced.

Inside, old women pushed carts through the asiles and a teenage stock clerk in black pants and a white shirt under a maroon apron fussed over a display of Busch's Baked Beans. Lincoln ducked right and went straight to the fruit section. Tables laden with apples, oranges, pears, grapefruit, and other healthy things greeted him, and he took a deep breath, the smell tantalizing his senses. He stood over the apples for a long time, examining and rejecting dozens before finding one that was perfect. He dropped it into a plastic bag, tied it off, and put it in his tote. Next, he got grapes, oranges, and five kiwis.

Done, he made his way to the spice aisle. He was comparing one brand of cinnamon to another when something bumped into his leg.

A grotesquely fat woman sat in a motorized scooter, her flabby fat rolls spilling over the armrests like melting lard. Her beady black eyes stared out at him from the folds of her swollen face, and her lewd smile revealed a mouthful of crooked teeth. Her black hair was pulled back from her broad forehead in a tight ponytail and her sagging breasts lay limp on her stomach. She wasn't wearing a bra and her erect nipples were _clearly _visible through the orange fabric of her tank top.

He looked from her to the girl standing beside her. Roughly twenty-five, she was as thin as her mother was corpulent and wore her black hair in pigtails that looked disconcertingly out of place on a woman her age. Unevenly chopped hangs hung in her eyes, and jagged snaggle teeth protruded over her thin bottom lip like a vampire's fangs. She wore a ratty pink dress over tattered leggings and a gold heart pendant in the hollow of her throat.

Lincoln was certain that he had never seen her before in his life, yet she was somehow familiar. He returned his gaze to the fat woman, and her smile widened, the harsh overhead light reflecting on her metal fillings. Maybe it was imagination, but he thought he could smell her fetid breath, like spoiled Spam and rotten cottage cheese.

"Hey, lame-o," she purred.

All at once, it hit him, and he nearly toppled over in shock. "Ronnie Anne?"

Years ago, Lincoln had the _biggest _crush on Ronnie Anne and was under the impression she liked him back. Then, one day, he found her necking with Poppa Wheelie and, long story short, he got her pregnant with triplets. They both dropped out of middle school, and the last he heard, they lived in a run down single wide on the outskirts of Elk Park, Poppa working at the junkyard and Ronnie Anne ruling as Royal County Food Stamp Queen.

"Long time no see, lame-o," she said and traveled her gaze appraisingly down his body, "you fill out those dad jeans really nicely."

He was too shocked to reply. "Uh...t-thank you."

"How're you doing?" she asked, winded from the simple act of speaking.

"Good," he stammered, "you?"

She lifted and lowered one shoulder. "Been worse. The diabetes took my feet so at least I don't have to walk anymore."

Lincoln looked and, indeed, her feet were stumps.

"I, uh, I'm sorry to hear that."

She waved a dismissive hand. "Don't be. Walking got really hard around the time I hit 450. Doctor kept tellin' me I had to do it, but now I don't. Ha!"

Lincoln's head spun.

Turning to her daughter, Ronnie Anne said, "Ramona, go grab me a couple boxes of them peanut butter Ho-Hos." She glanced slyly at Lincoln. "I like to eat 'em while I watch _Wheel of Fortune. _I can go through three boxes of them things. They're _so _good."

Ramona shot her mother a disgusted look, then spun in a swish of sour smelling air and stalked off. "What are you doin' for work now, lame-o?" Ronnie Anne asked when the girl was gone.

"I'm a stay-at-home father," Lincoln said proudly.

Ronnie Anne gave a blank stare...then started to laugh, her fat jiggling and her six chins slapping together. "Lame-o, you kill me. Even you aren't that beta."

"I wasn't joking," Lincoln said tightly.

She furrowed her brow in confusion. "You mean you stay home all day and raise the kids?"

"I do."

He scrunched her lips. "Hm. Poppa Wheelie never had much to do with our kids. He'd come home, sit in his chair, and drink cheap beer until he passed out." She drew a dreamy sigh. "Now he was a _real _man. Too bad he ran off and left me." She looked up at him and batted her eyelashes suggestively. "You still want all this? Now's your chance, lame-o. Get it while it's still on the market."

Lincoln puked in his mouth. Just a little. "No, thank you," he said, "I'm...I'm taken."

"But does she look like _this?_"

"No," Lincoln said, "no, she does not."

Ronnie Anne snickered wryly. "Didn't think so. Why don't you swing by the trailer. We can get...reacquainted." She spoke not to him to his crotch, her eyes dancing with malicious light and the corners of her too-small mouth turned sharply up in an animalistic grin. A shudder went down Lincoln's spine and he couldn't suppress a body wide shiver.

"No, thank you," he said and turned away.

"Wait," Ronnie Anne said, a note of desperation creeping into her voice. "Your wife doesn't have to know. I'll be your sidepiece."

Lincoln sighed and half twisted to face her. She smiled, and her jowls rippled like flaps of lunch meat. "I don't cheat, Ronnie Anne. I'm faithful."

She stared at him for a moment as though he were speaking a strange and complex language, then tilted her head to one side. "So you take care of your kids, you don't cheat -"

"I don't drink, I don't use drugs, I don't lie, I eat pussy, I cook, I clean, I put my family first, I -"

The fat woman was already laughing, her fat shaking like Jell-O and tears rolling down her puffed out cheeks. She waved her hand as if begging him to stop, and she shook her head slowly from side to side in disbelief. Ramona walked up, dropped five boxes of Ho-Hos into the wire basket attached to the scooter's front, and shot her mother a withering look full of scorn and hatred. "You ain't no man, lame-o, you're a woman! What kind of stupid, no-standards, desperate little bitch goes for a soyboy like you? I cook. I clean. I eat pussy. A real man treats his woman like dirt, breaks her heart, and cheats on her every chance he gets. Look, I want a husband to pay my bills, not a wife to nag me for not using a coaster!"

"Keep looking," Lincoln said through his teeth.

Ronnie Anne weaved her head sassily back and forth. "Guess I will," she said, then glanced up at her daughter. "Come on, we gon' find you a stepdaddy at the Wal-Mart."

The girl breathed an irritated sigh.

"Maybe find you a husband too. Little Miss Virgin Spinster."

Ramona's face turned red. "Mama," she hissed.

"Twenty-five and still ain't been with a man. When I was your age, I had five kids and two grandkids. I'm startin' to think you're gay."

Lincoln shook his head and walked away. When he was eleven years old, he legitimately loved that woman, but seeing her now, he'd never been more thankful for a romantic rejection in his life. Not only did it lead him into Lana's arms (and then Lola's), but it lead him _away _from the gelinatious nightmare Ronnie Anne had become. He tried to picture himself married to her, but the only image that would come to mind was of Princess Leia chained up and half naked at Jabba the Hutt's feet...or whatever passed for his feet. He couldn't say he believed in the concept of karma (like the notion of divine retribution, it most likely existed to console the powerless and unjustly wronged), but many years ago, Ronnie Anne took his heart, flung it to the dirt, and ground it under her foot. This miserable punishment she called a life was exactly what she deserved for being so cold, calloused, and hateful.

A smile touched his lips and a light spring entered his step. There's nothing more bouying than finding out someone who has hurt you crashed and burned along the way. She chose a man like Poppa Wheelie over him and she was paying for it dearly. If her mindset was anything to go by, she'd keep on paying until the diabetes killed her, which wouldn't be long.

Okay, she didn't deserve death - that was _hugely _disproportionate to the crimes she carried out when she was eleven - but she did everything else.

Fucking bitch.

Inexplicable anger seethed in his chest, and deep, cutting pain sliced through his stomach, a memory of the emotional torment she caused him. By the time he went through checkout and got back to the car, he was sick and felt like he was going to puke. He shoved the groceries into the backseat, climbed in behind the wheel, and took a series of deep, evenly spaced breaths. He had no reason to feel this way, but his mood, already darkened by Leah seeing _him, _was ruined, and he drove through the streets of Royal Woods with an anxious expression on his face and his muscles tensed. Gas, he needed gas.

He pulled into the Sunoco on the corner of Main and Birch and drew abreast of a pump. He took a deep breath, got out, and went around to the gas tank. On the other side, a seven foot tall clown pumped fuel into a lime green lowrider. Lincoln froze. Maybe if he was really quiet…

TT looked up, saw him, and pursed his lips. "Nigga, I ain't seen yo ass in, like, twenty years, now it's back to _back_. The fuck is you doin, stalkin me?"

"N-No," Lincoln said quickly and held his hands up in a beseeching gesture _(I don't want any trouble)_. "I-I swear."

The mascot favored him with slitted eyes, then hummed, accepting his denial. "How's ya girl? She kill anyone yet?"

That prickled Lincoln. "No," he said, "she hasn't. She's been talking about becoming a police officer lately."

"That's what up, nigga," TT said happily, "see? Told yo ass. Y'all think I'm playin, I know what's good."

Behind him, the door leading into the store opened, and two more clowns walked out, one roughly 5'5 and the other hovering at four feet. They both wore white face paint, silvery jumpsuits, and big, floppy clown shoes. "Yo, TTette, come here."

The clowns walked over, and TT clapped the smaller one on the back. "This my son, TT Jr."

Lincoln blnked. For some reason, he didn't think TT had children.

The little boy nodded. "What it do, nigga?" he asked. His voice was identical to his father's; deep, firm, and black.

"Uh...hi," Lincoln said.

TT swatted his wife (?) and jutted his chin out at Lincoln. "'Member this nigga? He the one house I stayed at that time you was trippin. Had that little sista with the frog. I like that girl. She remind me of me. I can take or leave ya otha sista. She seem cool now, but back in the day she was all fucked up. Little Miss Beauty Queen."

"I remember," TTette said and looked Lincoln up and down. Lincoln flashed a tight smile and she hummed as if finding him deficient.

TT took the nozzle out of the tank and slipped it back into its slot. "I'd love to chat, nigga, but we got places to be." He opened the driver door and slid in behind the wheel. TT Jr. climbed in the back, and TTette sat in the passenger seat. TT rolled down the window, rested his arm on the frame, and studied Lincoln for a moment. "Tell you what, nigga. Need anymore help with'cho crazy ass daughter, come see me at the restaurant. You know how I do."

The window buzzed up, the engine roared into life, and TT drove off in a squeal of tires.

Sometimes, Lincoln mused, I think this entire town is crazy.


	3. Having the Talk

Leah Loud sat in the back of second period math and stared at the board, where the teacher, a balding man with glasses and a mustache named Mr. Rader, wrote out complicated equations. Math was her least favorite subject and she normally ignored as much of it as she could, but today, Mr. Rader had her full and undivided attention.

Except for the tiny little voice in the back of her head that kept needling her to think about Palmer McBride's boner. No matter what she did, that part would not get with the program. It had been bothering her all morning and she was literally _this _close to crying, mainly because the more it spoke, the more she agreed with it. Palmer was gross, geeky, ugly, and smelled funny...which was ohmigod. She went back to Mr. Handsome puking on her at the party, and her body ached to feel that same hot, humiliating sensation, to be smeared in steaming vomit from the tips of her toes to the crown of her forehead, to taste it on her lips when Palmer-I-mean-Mr-Handsome jammed his bile coated tongue into her mouth.

She'd had dirty thoughts before, but the stinging intensity of these shocked her; each one filled her already swollen center with throbbing passion, and the more turned on she became, the more urgent and disgusting they were. In most of them, she kissed, licked, and sucked Palmer's scrawny body. She didn't smell any BO when she was close to him that morning, but in her fantasies, his armpits reeked like gas station chilldogs, and it made her _salivate. _

Deep inside, she had some shred of dignity, and the visions of her licking Palmer's asshole perturbed her. Ugh, why was she like this?

*Snap* Dad. He just _had _to bang Aunt Lana with the door wide open. It was seeing Lana's pink pussy lips molding around Dad's pumping shaft and catching a faint whiff of their commingled musk, like a shark tasting blood and going apeshit. She was attracted to neither one of them, but still, the act of their copulating was so freaking hot she could melt.

And practically was. She reached down, squinted one eye, and slipped her hand under her dress, pulling the sodden crotch of her panties from between her sizzling lower lips. Maybe she should go jill off and calm herself down. She glanced up at the clock on the wall and bunched her lips in thought. Class was almost over and after next period was lunch. If she waited, she'd have longer to play with herself, and she liked taking her time when she masturbated.

Taking a deep breath, she nodded to herself and fixed her eyes on the board. When the bell rang five minutes later, she gathered her books and went out into the crowded hall. Royal County Middle had a student body of almost eight hundred, and every one of them, it seemed, greeted her as she walked to her locker, cute boys with nods, jealous girls with sneers, and shy boys with blushes. Normally, she liked being the center of attention, but right now she just wanted to be left alone.

With Palmer McBride.

Oh, God, no. Please.

At her locker, she input the combination, grabbed her history book, and went to class, arriving just ahead of the bell. The teacher, Mr. Lucas, stopped giving a shit twenty years ago and sat behind his desk with a Tom Clancy paperback while everyone silently read from Chapter 8: The Gilded Age. Leah scanned the same passage five times, but failed to retain the contents and heaved a sigh of frustration. Propping her elbows on the desk, she threaded her fingers through her hair and called up a vision of Palmer's face. Freaking dork with his big dumb glasses. If he was here right now, she'd steal him in his jaw for making her feel like this.

The voice in the back of her head gave a patronizing _tsk, tsk tsk, _and she steeled herself for what was to come. _Just do him, damn. You want to, right?_

Well...she didn't know what she wanted. She was turned on, but actually doing...that? She seriously imagined herself getting naked and letting a boy fuck her, and her stomach twisted into a hopeless tangle. She seriously imagined it being Palmer - flopping on top of her like a fish and panting _m'lady_, and she shuddered. Demeaning was kind of hot but...she didn't know, okay? She just wanted it to stop.

At the end of class, she took her books to her locker, then made straight for the girl's room flanking the door to the cafeteria. Her pussy quivered in expectation and her heartbeat sped up. She was blushing furiously as she slammed through the door. Girls stood at the sink giggling and checking their makeup, and all of the stalls were occupied save for the one against the far wall. Balled up paper towels and pieces of toilet paper littered the floor, and the smell of warm poo choked the air. Leah hurried to the stall, slipped in, and latched the door behind her. Reaching under her dress, she pulled her damp panties to her knees and sat; the seat was cool on her fevered butt and her breath caught. She spread her legs far apart, dipped her hand between her thighs, and found her clit with her middle finger. Sickly heat rolled from her depths and her natural lubrication burned like oil.

Quick, hard, and savage, she told herself; the sooner it was over, the better.

Biting her lower lip, she started to rub in a lazy clockwise motion. Sharp whorls of sensation rippled through her and, bowing her head, she closed her eyes. In the next stall over, something plopped into the water, and the aroma of shit intensified. Leah sniffed the air, and shivered in delight.

She increased her speed by degrees until her flesh squelched like a foot stepping in mud. Her face blazed with color and she hung her head, her teeth chewing at her bottom lip. She squeezed her eyes closed and took a deep breath through her nose, the cloying stench of shit making her heart race and her mouth water. She swirled her finger around her slick opening and spread her seeping fluid over her pussy lips. She imagined herself mounting Palmer McBride - his dick spreading her pussy lips the way Dad's dick spread Lana's - and her body clutched with her orgasm. She moaned and arched her back as ecstasy washed through her. She purred, bucked her hips against her hand, and rode her climax to the finish.

Spent and panting, she brushed her bangs from her face and fought to reign in her runaway heart. Her mind, so recently clouded with lust, cleared, and all thoughts of Palmer McBride drained away like shitty water from an unclogged toilet.

There.

She pulled her hand out from between her legs and idly glanced at it, then froze.

It was covered in blood.

Oh my God, did I break something?

Her heart skipped a beat...then a sudden cramp hit her like a fist to the guts.

Oof.

Nope. Just her period.

Whew.

She realized she didn't have a tampon, and her spirits crashed.

Damn.

She glanced at the toilet paper dispenser, considered for a moment, then grabbed a wad and ripped it off. Pressing it to her bloody beef curtains, she stood, pulled her panties up, and stuffed more toilet paper in just to be sure. It wasn't perfect, but it would hold until she could get a tampon from her locker.

Unlocking the door, she went to the sink, squirted soap into her hands, and rubbed them under the water. Despite starting her period right in the middle of flicking the bean, she felt good for the first time all day, like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Now she could go back to being a normal girl and not some sex crazed pervert from a shitty cartoon fan fiction. She cut the spray, went out into the hall, and started toward her locker, but changed courses and ducked into the cafeteria instead. She'd put a tamp in later; right now, after cumming her soul out, she was starved.

Lunch that day was chicken and baked beans. Leah sat with the other cheerleaders and shoved her face full of food, paying little mind to whether to not all of it made it into her mouth. Some did not; beans, bits of bread, and a piece of chicken meat covered the front of her shirt, but she didn't care. She was beautiful and popular, she could do whatever she wanted. The other girls watched her with varying shades of disgust, but none said anything.

When she was done, she slammed her milk and let out a loud belch. There, _now _she felt much better. Her stomach was full, her pussy was empty, and that dweeb Palmer was the last thing on her mind.

Getting up, she carried her tray to the little window opening onto the kitchen, stacked it on top of a teetering pile, and started to class. She was almost there when she remembered her little, uh, problem. She diverted to her locker, grabbed a tampon, and went to the bathroom. In the far stall, she locked the door, hiked her dress up over her hips, and pulled her panties down. The toilet paper had largely soaked through, and when she pulled it away, it ripped; pieces of bloody tissue stuck to her folds and inner thighs, but she didnt feel like picking them off one by one, so she left them. She needed a bath tonight anyway; it had been a while.

A long while, come to think of it.

Her next class was science, and the teacher, Mrs. Borden, had the students pair off for a chemistry experiment. Leah wound up with a bracefaced nerd girl named Kylie, which was awesome, because she stank at science and needed someone to carry her weight. They sat at a long table arrayed with a crazy assortment of beakers, test tubes, petri dishes, and other science junk Leah couldn't name. Half way through, her stomach started to ache, and her butt bubbled with gas. She politely held it for as long as she could, but it soon became too much; she lifted up and let out a loud, ripping fart. Kylie gasped and looked at her like she said the N word or something. "Too much beans," Leah explained.

Kylie crinkled her nose and turned away.

A few seconds later, another one slipped out with a wet _pffft. _Leah snorted laughter, and in the corner of her eye, Kylie angrily pursed her lips. Come on, flatulence is perfectly natural. It's ScIeNcE.

Her stomach clutched.

This was gonna be a big one.

She cocked her butt (in Kylie's direction) and let it out.

Only it wasn't just air. Warm liquid filled her underwear and her eyes widened.

On no.

Her hand shot up, and Mrs. Borden looked at her. "Can I go to the bathroom?" Leah asked.

"I don't know," Mrs. Borden said, "can you?"

I JUST SHARTED, THIS IS NO TIME FOR GRAMMAR NAZISM! "May I?"

"You may."

Leah jumped up, bumped into her chair, and nearly fell over as she scrambled out of the room. Warm liquid trickled down the backs of her legs and she damned herself a thousand ways. In the bathroom, she pulled her panties down, stepped out of them, and moaned at the watery brown shit coating the back. Ugh. Ruined.

Grabbing a wad of toilet paper, she dipped it in the toilet and scrubbed her legs the best she could. After a deep and thorough wipe that did not leave her feeling clean, she unlocked the door, crossed to the sink, and scrubbed her legs again, this time with paper towels. Her panties lay in a heap next to the toilet; the janitor could deal with them later.

At the end of the day, she got her coat from her locker, pulled it on, and left by the main doors. The day was cold and overcast, and a breeze blew up her dress, prickling her bare, sensitive skin and making her shiver. Stopping, she closed the jacket, buttoned it, and tied the belt around her waist.

Leanne waited for her by the flagpole outside Royal Woods Elementary, her books pressed to her chest. Leah lifted her hand, and Leanne came over, eyes dark and stormy like night in a Lord Lytton novel. Despite her homicidal tendencies, Leanne did well in school; she got good grades, had many friends, and rarely ever caused trouble. Even so, Leah knew something was wrong in an instant. She opened her mouth to speak, but the little girl brushed past her and started in the direction of home at a veritable trot. Leah hesitated, then hurried to catch up. "Hey," she huffed as she drew alongside, "what's the matter?"

"Nothing," Leanne grumbled.

"Yes there is," Leah shot back, "you're obviously mad. Did you get in trouble?"

Leanne didn't reply.

Leah tried for two blocks to get her sister to open up. Finally, Leanne snapped. "There's nothing wrong, okay? Go pick your butt and leave me alone."

"I just wanna help," Leah returned bitterly, "but if you're going to be that way -"

"I don't want your help, I want you to piss off and stop asking me questions, dumbass."

They were at the intersection of Pine and Main, cross traffic heavy. To the right, a rush of motels, gas stations, and fast food joints overlooked the street, the sky above them choked with swaying power lines. Leah narrowed her eyes and glared at her little sister. Something was clearly bothering her and the best thing Leah could do was back off and let her snide little comments go. Her pride, however, demanded a rebuttal. _How dare that little serial killer talk to _me _that way._

She opened her mouth to say something really, really mean (what she didn't know, though it was going to be super hurtful) but a high, reedy voice cut her off.

"Hiya, ladies."

Oh, God, not again.

They both turned, and Palmer McBride, back bent and thumbs thrust through his suspenders, gave an exaggerated wink, the corner of his mouth tugging up.

"Are you stalking us?" Leah asked.

"I elect to think of it as admiring on the go," Palmer replied and took a sliding step forward. "Or perhaps mo-bile wooing. The distinction is up to you."

Leah glared at him. "So stalking."

Next to her, Leanne's face darkened and her lips turned sharply down.

Like a scientist crying eureka over a world changing discovery, Palmer thrust his index finger toward the sky. "Ah, but a stalker possesses ill intentions, mine, on the other hand, are anything but. Whereas a stalker seeks to cause fear and intimidation, I aim only to cause feelings of love, devotion…" he leaned close to Leah with a salacious smile, and she leaned away, "...and, perhaps, sexual pleasure."

Leanne's face turned red and purple like she was strangling, and fat veins stood out on her neck and forehead. She shook like a kettle on the stove and a long, low _uhhhh _escaped her lips. Leah glanced from Palmer to her, then back again. "Uh, I -"

Throwing her books to the ground, Leanne let out a screeching bellow of "I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!" and threw herself at the black boy. Being an uncoordinated oaf, he toppled instalty back and fell to the pavement with a grunt. Leah started and her hands flew to her mouth.

Sputtering like a madwoman, Leanne mounted the boy, her knees caging his legs and the hem of her skirt lying slack against his stomach, and, rocking forward, wrapped her hands around his soft throat. Sneering, she squeezed, and his eyes bulged from their sockets, a strangled gurgle rising from his bunch lips. Her face was a mask of demonic satisfaction, the cat who _finally _got that troublesome little mouse, and her back heaved as she sucked great gulps of air.

Her features, however, slowly began to fall, and the deep, murderous blush on her cheeks softened from angry crimson to girlish pink. Palmer stared up at her in a mixture of fear and confusion; he was red too, but to be fair, he _was _being choked to death. She darted her eyes to his, and her grip seemed to loosen, but only a little.

Leah cocked her head curiously.

For a moment, neither of them moved, then Leanne gently slid her hips forward, then back, putting Leah in mind of a cat rubbing itself on a door frame. Palmer's hands, clasped to the back of hers in a futile attempt to pry them off, fell to his sides his eyes widened with shock. Leanne slid her hips along his body, trembling now, and when he bucked against her, she sucked a sharp intake of breath through her teeth.

A memory came back to Leah: Aunt Lana on top of Dad, slowly sinking herself onto his dick. She studied Leanne and Palmer's faces, and her stomach dropped.

They were doing pretty much the same thing!

Leanne rymically tightened her grip, then loosened it, then tightened again; panting exhalations puffed from her parted lips and her center ground roughly over Palmer's crotch. Palmer's hands twitched, then fluttered to her butt, brushing her skirt up to expose virtuous white underwear. Leah's jaw clacked against her chest and her shoulders slumped; she couldn't believe what she was seeing...or how hot it was. "Uh...L-Leanne?"

The little girl arched her back and thrust against him. Their stared into each other's eyes, both looked shocked and discomfited, as though neither one quite knew how they got there but found themselves reluctantly enjoying it anyway. She bit her lower lip and Palmer squeezed her butt tighter, his hands awkward and clumsy.

"G-Guys," Leah said and looked around. Cars rushed by in the street and drivers craned to see what was going on. A group of boys stopped on the opposite sidewalk and stared. "Hey, is that Palmer the Pussy?" one asked.

"Kill him, little girl!" another called.

They obviously didn't see what was _really _happening, but Leah did, and it was turning her on. The heavy, burning feeling from earlier was back in her loins and her heart pounded gently against her ribs, making her aching breast quiver. A lump formed in her throat and she swallowed hard.

On the ground, Leanne stopped, shook her head like a woman coming out of a trance, and clambored frantically off of Palmer. She stumbled back, staring down at him with drawing horror, then spun and rushed away, getting to the other side of the street just as the light changed and traffic resumed. Leah glanced between her and Palmer; he lay on the sidewalk panting for air, his sizable erection pushing out the front of his pants in a yummy tent that made Leah's stomach pang. He propped himself up on his elbows and stared at her, dazed, his head swaying drunkenly back and forth. Leah flicked her eyes to his boner and her core spasmed. He was helpless, weak, already out of his mind with desire, all she had to do was hop on and finish what Leanne started.

"I believe I like being manually axphiated now," Palmer said, more to himself than to her. His ear piercing voice broke the spell, and like her sister, she, too, turned and fled.

* * *

Lana dragged herself through the door at half-past seven that evening and dropped into her Lazy-Boy. Her feet ached, her back was tight, and her skin was gritty with the dirt of a hard day's work. Lincoln, clad in a frilly pink apron, one hand thrust into an oven mit, came in from the kitchen with a cold beer. "Hey, honey," he said and kissed her cheek.

"Hey, Linc," she said and gratefully took the can. "Dinner done?"

"Almost," he said. He turned to go back into the kitchen, and Lana slapped his butt, making him giggle.

When he was gone, she unbuttoned her jeans, thrust her hand down the front, and scratched her crotch. Her blonde pubic hair was matted with sweat and sperm, and the dank smell emanating from it made her nose crinkle. Ew, gnarly. She needed a shower.

Eh, if she had the energy.

Taking a swing of beer, the liquid cold and yeasty in her mouth, she picked up the remote and turned the TV on. David Muir, his fading black hair streaked with white and wrinkles spreading out from the corners of his mouth and eyes, sat behind the _ABC World News Tonight _desk. Was _The Running Man _on? That was her favorite reality show, right behind _Liberty City Survivor. _Both were action packed and practically oozed testosterone, just the way she liked her primetime television.

She drained the beer, crushed the can, and let out a thunderous belch. She sat the empty on the end table and rolled her neck. Lola, clad in a thin pink dress with spaghetti straps, came in from the hall and started into the kitchen. "Hey," Lana called to get her attention.

Lola turned and lifted one perfectly trimmed brow. Like the dainty little flower she was, she wore eyeshadow and pink lipgloss, both of which turned Lana right the hell on. "C'mere," she said.

She hesitated for a second, then sighed and came over. That was her playing hard to get, and that turned Lana on too. She stopped at the chair and looked expectantly down at Lana. "Turn." Lana said.

Rolling her eyes but unable to hide the pleased little ghost of a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth, she turned and bent slightly. Lana rubbed her hands together, then let fly, hitting Lola's butt with a loud, meaty _thwack_. "I hope you didn't shower yet," she said, "I'm in the mood to eat some ass."

"I didn't bathe...yet."

"Good," Lana said and smacked her lips. She liked her butts nice and sweaty, with just a tang of unwashed musk. She _really _liked it when the hole was wet with shit, but Lola didn't like scat, at all, so she only did that with Lincoln. He was resistant to a lot of things at first, but over the years, he grew more and more submissive. He'd probably let her do anything she wanted, but even she had her limits. She liked being hit, choked, and hurt, but she couldn't bring herself to do those things to him. She was tough-as-nails, but with Lincoln she was soft-as-satin. Yeah, she could _maaaybe_ get a little rough with him here and there, but she loved him, and for only him, she would be tender and gentle.

Lola went into the kitchen to help set the table, and a few minutes later, she leaned out and called everyone in. Lana got up, scratched her butt, and crossed the living room. She took her spot at the head and Lincoln sat a plate laden with pot roast, potatoes, and carrots in front of her. Leah and Leanne shuffled in with matching expressions of disquiet and sat in their customary seats, Leah next to Lola and Leanne next to Lana. Lincoln put their plates before them, minced to the stove, and took a tray of corn muffins from the oven. Leanne stared down at her food with pinched brow concentration, and Lana watched for a moment. "What's on your mind, honey?" she asked.

"In school suspension," Lincoln said. He came over and scraped a muffin onto each plate.

"What?" Lana asked sharply and glared at her daughter.

Leanne made no sign that she heard.

"She punched another girl in the back of the head," Lincoln said and sat.

Lana breathed a long suffering sigh. Leanne had problems, and no matter how much she denied it to herself and everyone else, Lana was keenly aware of them. Having said that, she rarely got into trouble at school, so Lana suspected she must have had a valid reason. "Why did you punch someone?" she demanded.

"She pushed me," Leanne grumbled.

"Did you tell the teacher?" Lana asked.

"No, I punched her."

"Now she's in ISS for the rest of the week," Lincoln said. He took his oven mitt off and tossed it onto the table. "And grounded."

Lana shook her head and picked up her fork. "You really should have told instead of hitting her like that," Lana said. "God forbid two kids get in a fight these days. Schools act like it's the worst thing ever." She stabbed a piece of roast and shoved it into her mouth; the meat was moist and succulent, just like Dad used to make. "How was _your _day?" Lana asked her niece around mushy beefy.

"Okay," Leah said just a _little _too quickly. Unless Lana was mistaken, there was a touch of guilt in her voice, like she did something she wasn't too proud of. Lana smiled fondly and took another bite. She knew that feeling well. Sometimes, she shocked even herself with how gross she could be, like the first time she went down on a menstruating Lola. To be fair, Lola started right in the middle of Lana giving her oral and Lana just went with it. Period blood tastes a lot different from regular blood, by the way; a lot more coppery and wild, chunkier too, what with the itty bitty shreds of uterus lining. Those get stuck in your teeth then wiggle their way out over the course of hours or even days. Talk about a flavor saver. That first time, she sat on the edge of her bed, lips smeared in blood, and really, for the first time, reconsidered her nastiness.

But not for long. Being nasty was who she was and she liked herself just fine, thank you very much. Leah was the same in a lot of ways, a gross ass little thot who ate food off the floor, farted, and picked her nose, then ate the meaty results. The biggest difference was, she didn't take pride in her nastiness the way Lana did, because to Leah, it was normal. Why pound your chest about being average?

At least that's how Lana saw it. "You sure?" she asked. "You look like maybe you shit yourself in class."

Leah's eyes widened ever so slightly, and Lana realized holy shit, she was right. Leah crapped in her panties. Hahaha. You gotta get up _pretty _early to get one over on old Lana Loud. "Was it loose or solid?" Lana asked, genuinely interested. "Every once in a while, when I have diarrhea, I like to go in my underwear then sit in it for a while. Feels really good and warm."

"Lana, you're gross," Lola said, "can we please talk about something else?"

Humph."Alright," Lana said, "how was _your _day?"

"Long," Lola said. She worked at a beauty salon in Elk Park cutting and styling hair, giving mani-pedis, and getting hit on by lesbians. She worked from 7am to 5pm and made shit money, though her tips were usually pretty good; she'd been there for years and knew what she was doing, unlike the younger and more inexperienced girls. "I saw Carol Santiago today."

Forking a piece of potato to her mouth, Lana said, "Yeah? How's she?"

"Pregnant."

Years ago, Lori was madly in love with Bobby Santiago, but broke up with him because he was a douchebag and called Lincoln a homo or something. He started dating Carol Pingrey, got her pregnant, and married her. "How many kids do they have?"

"Seven, I think."

Lana whistled. "They're almost as bad as Mom and Dad."

Leah pushed a hunk of beef across her plate and Leanne scrunched her lips from side to side in thought. She looked like she was grappling with something so enormous and out of her comfort zone she could barely wrap her mind around it; Lana hoped it was the realization that she should have told instead of hitting.

"Oh, speaking of," Lola said, "Lily messaged me on Facebook this morning."

Lana lifted her brow curiously. Lily, twenty-seven and working as an intern on Capitol Hill, was the only sister, aside from Lucy, who still spoke to them since Lisa turned into a Nazi, then died. She hardly ever reached out, though, but she _was _busy, so Lana could forgive her that. "Really? What's up with her these days?"

Across the table, Leah licked her lips and blushed, as though she were having dirty thoughts. Who knows, maybe she was. Lana and Lola got started young, so it stood to reason that their daughters would too.

"Well," Lola said, "you're about to see a very big sex scandal in the news. And hear a lot of Lillian Loud blowjob jokes on late night TV."

Lana forked a piece of fat and slurped it off her fork. "President?"

"Yep," Lola said, "vice president and speaker of the house too."

""Holy shit," Lana said appreciatively. "At least we have someone famous in our family now. Aside from Lisa."

The atmosphere darkened at the mention of Lisa, and Lana regretted bringing her up. When she was eighteen, Lisa swore allegiance to fascism and set about establishing the Fourth Reich. She bought a private island, built an evil lair, and hired a bunch of henchmen, then started trying to take over the world. Eventually, that guy from Stark Industries - the one who built the metal suit - kicked her ass and sent her to jail. Three days later, she popped a cyanide capsule and died.

For some reason, no one really liked talking about her.

"Anyway," Lana said to change the topic, "how was your day, Linc?"

"I saw Ronnie Anne at the supermarket."

Lana's eyes narrowed. Twenty five years ago, Ronnie Anne and her fat little boyfriend Poppa Wheelie broke Lincoln's heart, and Lana had hated both of them ever since. Though Royal Woods is a small town, she hadn't bumped into Ronnie Anne in years - she was frumpy, overweight, and pregnant, with a baby on her hip and older kids clustered around her looking miserable, but she did Poppa Wheelie about six years ago. He was driving his battered Dodge out of town as she was driving in; she pulled a U-turn, chased him down, and ran him off the road. As she sped by, she stuck her head out the window and called him a fag.

"What's up with _her?" _Lana asked sourly.

Drawing a sigh and smirking, "She's, like, 500 pounds, single, has no feet."

That made Lana laugh _richly_. "Good," she said, "I hope she regrets letting you get away right up until the day that grease trap she calls a heart gives out."

Lincoln blushed. "I think she does. She's just too stubborn to admit it."

"Yeah, she screwed up big time," Lola said, then batted her eyelashes, "but that just means more for us."

Leah looked up from her food. "Can I be excused?"

Lola frowned. "You didn't each very much. Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm just tired."

"Yeah, me too," Leanne put in.

Lana motioned for her daughter to get up, and Lola did the same with hers. Both girls grabbed their plates, carried them into the kitchen, then hurried back out and disappeared into their room. "They're acting kind of strange," Lana remarked and took a bite.

At the other side of the table, Lincoln blushed. "With Leah, it's probably…"

Probably what?

Then it hit her. Oh, right, she walked in on them having sex earlier. Heh. How could she forget that? Her crotch was leaking and itchy all day - a feeling she _loved_. "What?" Lola asked, her brows furrowing.

"Leah...saw me and Lana this morning," Lincoln said. His words came as a terrible confession, and he stared down at his food with a contrite expression. Lana loved him more than anything else in this world - save for their daughter - but he could be a little too sensitive for his own good. She knew this would eat away at him, and she was right; he probably spent the whole day sitting right at this very table with his legs crossed, drinking coffee and worrying himself sick, thinking Leah was scarred for life and feeling like a monster because she accidentally glimpsed his penis.

"Oh," Lola said nonchalantly, "well, she had to see sometime."

That's exactly what Lana said.

Lincoln sighed. "She shouldn't have seen that, Lola. I feel awful."

"Don't beat yourself up, Linc," Lana said and jammed a chunk of beef into her mouth, "she saw me too. Probably a lot more than she did you." The thought of her niece watching her, shocked, scandalized, and maybe even a little turned on, brought a hot flush to the back of Lana's neck.

"She's at that age," Lola said, "Leanne too. They both need The Talk."

Lana blinked in surprise. "The Talk?" she asked distastefully. "They're eleven and thirteen. They should know it all already."

"Really?" Lola asked sarcastically.

"Okay," Lana condeded, "yeah, okay, they might not know everything, but no one ever gave _us _the talk."

"They don't have a brother to explore and practice on the way we did," Lola pointed out.

Lana snorted. "Come on, you're telling me they haven't done anything together?"

Lola started to speak, but stopped and considered Lana's words. "Well..._maybe_, but still, they need the facts and they need them from us."

She wasn't wrong. Leah and Leanne were growing girls in the blossoming stage of puberty, their young bodies beginning to ripen and their hormones raging. As mothers, it fell to her and Lola to guide them into womanhood as best they could.

A part of her didn't want to, it wanted her to close the matter out and go on with her life because addressing it would somehow make real the fact that her little girl wasn't so little anymore. Leah and Leanne were both growing up and every time Lana took her eyes off them for more than a few minutes, they seem to have changed just a little, not enough that it was obvious, just enough that she got the uncanny sense that something was different. Leanne was a little taller, Leah's chest a little more developed.

No mother wants to admit that her baby is growing up, but Leanne was - her breasts were budding, her first period was almost three months past, and she didn't have to use a chair to reach knives on the kitchen counter anymore.

Loss gripped Lana's chest and she drew a burdened breath. It seemed like only yesterday Leanne was choking her teddy bears and telling them to _dddddddiiiiiiii_. She sighed sentimentally and lowered her gaze to her plate. "You're right," she said heavily. "After dinner we'll sit them down and give them the talk."

After that, Lana ate very slowly.

* * *

Leah sat on the edge of her bed with her hands balled in her lap and stared down at the floor, her lips sucked into her mouth and her eyes wide and unblinking: She looked like a shell shocked tornado survivor praying to God for salvation. Leanne sat in the middle of her own bed across the room, her knees drawn to her chest and a similarly dazed look on her face. Leah wore a silky white night dress that felt really good against her body and when she moved. Leanne was dressed in a red and green flannel nightgown with white lace around the collar; her hair was down, hanging over her shoulders like golden sunbeams. She gazed fixedly ahead and hugged her legs like a little girl clutching a favorite teddy bear for protection. Leah, for her part, curled and uncurled her toes, nervously gripping tufts of brown carpet and pulling. Her cheeks were as pink as the walls around her, and her heart thudded even though she hadn't had a dirty thought since sitting down five minutes ago.

She shifted in place, and snapped her legs closed at the hollow, longing ache in her loins. The last time she saw Palmer, he was lying flat on his back with his erection poking through his pants like a proud Maypole, and since then, she hadn't been able to think of literally anything else. She pondered his penis in great detail and imagined what it would look like...and smell like...and taste like. When she tried to imagine actually putting it in her hole, however, she cringed. Her body was plainly telling her that's what it wanted, but her body was dumb, his dick was really big and her pussy was _really _small. Like, she could barely fit two fingers in without feeling like it was going to rip.

As if to confirm this to herself, she slipped her hand under her dress, spread her thighs apart, pushed her index finger past her sticky lips, and prodded her opening. Yeah, there was _no _way she could take his dick - or any other dick for that matter.

At least not without it hurting.

Really bad.

She gulped and looked at her sister. Leanne had been quiet and withdrawn all afternoon, even more so than usual. Leah made no attempt to ask her about what happened between her and Palmer, but the longer these thoughts and feelings built up inside of her, the harder it became to hold them inside. She opened her mouth to speak, but wasn't sure what to say. "Did you like it?" she finally managed.

Leanne didn't reply. It sure looked like she did, but then she got really weird and started acting like she was mad. "It's okay if you did," Leah pressed, "it...it kinda…it looked really hot." The last four words came in a breathy rush of confession.

The younger girl shot her a guarded glance, then turned away and resumed glaring sullenly at the wall. "Yeah," she admitted lowly, "I did. It made me feel like when you played with my thing, but...more." She swallowed thickly. "I wanted to kill him...then I didn't. I-I wanted to kiss him. And bite him. I really wish I bit him."

Leah nodded. "Yeah, me too. Well...not to bite him, but…" she trailed off and let that thought hang unfinished. She wished she touched his dick...and kissed him...and grinded him the way Leanne had. She wished he was here right now so they could strip naked, get under the covers, and explore each other's bodies with urgent touches, hungry kisses, and animal abandon, nothing mattering but the sensations they stoked in one another and the eventual moment of heart stopping release. She probably wouldn't go all the way, but she'd go _most _of it...twice.

"I like it but I don't like it," Leanne said, "feeling this way is gay."

Leanne claimed to feel nothing most of the time. Leah thought that was just 3edgy5me bullshit, but she _was _a reserved person. The way she lost herself in the moment with Palmer was really surprising now that Leah thought about it. It took a lot to get her animated.

Whether she was really a psychopath or just pretending for attention, she was right, it _was _gay, and if she could, Leah would feel something else, anything else.

Instead, she felt _this _way, and that begged the question…

What now?

The more she mulled it over, the more she wanted it, and the more she wanted it, the more she wanted it from Palmer McBride specifically.

Maybe -

Someone knocked on the door, and she and Leanne both looked at it. "Come in," Leah called.

It opened, and her mom slipped into the room, followed by Aunt Lana. They shared a knowing glance, then Mom crossed to Leanne's bed and sat, and Aunt Lana came over and sat next to Leah. Leah watched her warily, not knowing why they were here or what they wanted; did she and Leanne do something wrong?

Aunt Lana looked down at her boots and nervously wrang her hands. "You girls are growing up," she said at length, "and Lola and I figure it's time we had the, uh, t-the talk."

Talk? Talk about wha -

Oh.

_That _talk.

Wow. Awkward.

Across the room, Mom laid her hand on Leanne's knee, and Leanne darted her eyes between it and her face. "It's kind of a tricky subject," Mom said, "and we're a little…"

"Lost," Aunt Lana said.

Mom nodded. "Yeah, so we decided the best way to do it is to show you."

Aunt Lana put her hand on her bare leg, and Leah's heart rocketed into her throat. The older woman flashed a wan smile and leaned closer. Leah was frozen like a deer in the headlights, unable to draw away or even breathe. By _show, _did they mean…?

Coming to life, Leah cringed. "What are you doing?" she gasped, even though she knew _exactly _what her aunt was doing.

On the other side of the room, Mom cupped Leanne's cheek in her hand and smiled at her. Leanne favored her with a blank stare.

"We're going to teach you," Aunt Lana said.

The implication of _teach _made Leah's heart race. She was suddenly hyper aware of her aunt's warm touch; her calloused palm, her kneading fingertips, her smell - sour sweat and something else, something primal. Leah's gaze flickered from Lana's lips to her brown eyes and her stomach clutched. Leah grasped for words but none came. "Uhhh…"

"There's nothing wrong with...with learning," Lana said haltingly, "everyone has to do it sometime so why not now? With us?"

Leah stole a glance at her mother; she gently stroked Leanne's face and smiled at her in a hazy, unchaste sort of way that both scared and excited her. "B-But you're my aunt," Leah said and turned back to Lana. "That's gross."

Lana grinned. "That's what makes it hot."

She started to protest, but stopped. Actually...the thought of doing things with her aunt _was _hot.

Twisting around to fully face her, knee bent on the mattress, Lana took Leah's small hands in her large ones and gazed into her eyes. Leah's middle fluttered crazily and jagged claws of anxious need raked her stomach. "We'll start with the basics," Lana said. "Have you ever kissed someone?"

Leah thought for a moment. She'd kissed her mother and father, but that's not what Aunt Lana meant. She meant French kiss...at least Leah thought. She shook her head. "N-No."

"Alright," Aunt Lana said. She lifted her hand to Leah's chin, and a shiver dropped down Leah's spine. She tilted her head up, then slightly to the side. "I'm going to put my tongue in your mouth," Lana explained, "you massage is with yours. Okay?"

Leah gaped. She honestly didn't know what to say or think.

Not that she had time to: Lana bent forward, and all Leah could do was watch. Their tips of their noses brushed and Lana's lips skimmed hers, her hot breath, redolent of roast, filling Leah's nostrils. Leah's heart throbbed, and when she felt the tip of Lana's tongue licking her lips, she was powerless to do anything but part them and grant her entrance. Lana kissed her deeply and gently, and Leah's body seized like an epileptic in the middle of a stroke, odd and overwhelming sensations bursting through her body. Lana's tongue lashed hers and spurred it to motion; slowly, clumsily, and uncertain, like a fawn sliding on ice, she kissed back, losing herself to the moment and the sweet taste of her aunt's mouth. Lana's hands cupped her face and her thumbs lovingly grazed her cheekbones, and Leah trembled, her fingers clawing impotantly at the rough fabric of Lana's jeans as if for purchase.

Sucking Leah's bottom lip into her mouth, Lana pulled away, and Leah shook violently, every nerve ending in her body firing at once and her lungs gasping for air. "Take it easy, girl," Lana said with a laugh, "we haven't even started."

Shivers wracked Leah's body and the spot between her thighs smoldered like a wet bed of embers. She could barely breathe, hardly think, her brain scattered by the electric sensations crackling through it. She bit her lower lip and sucked air into flaring nostrils. On Leanne's bed, Mom knelt on her hands and knees, hands planted on either side of Leanne, and kissed the little girl with the same tender patience Lana kissed her with, flashes of their tongues visible, Mom's steady and self-assured, Leanne's fumbling and eager.

Lana caressed her cheek, and she turned back to her. "Swing your legs over the side."

Still trembling, Leah turned so that her body faced Leanne's bed and sat her feet on the floor, the carpet tickling her toes. Lana pressed her lips lightly to Leah's cheek and ghosted her hand up her leg and over her stomach, her even and confident touch making Leah shake even harder. The older woman cupped Leah's tiny breast through her nightgown, her warmth flowing into her and knocking a gasp from her working throat. Lana gently pinched Leah's erect nipple, and rolled it between deft fingers. Jolts of feeling shot into Leah's center, and her hips reflexively bucked; she clutched the cover with one hand and her aunt's jeans in the other. Her flesh blazed crimson and her stomach clenched; the room spun around her and her leaking pussy thrummed like a high tension box.

Lana brushed Leah's hair away from the side of her neck and kissed it with sizzling lips. Leah closed her eyes and parted her lips in a look of rapture, her breathing coming quicker and sharper as Lana worked her nipple and trailed kisses along her soft jaw. Mom pulled away from Leanne and they looked at each other for a moment, Mom grinning slyly and Leanne gaping - her cheeks were fire truck red and her limpid eyes hazy with heady love drunkenness. "Can I bite you?" she asked needily.

Mom giggled. "Why not? Your mother does."

Aunt Lana ran her hand down Leah's stomach, and the girl's back arched of its own accord, her body mindlessly responding to the call of nature. Lana's kisses became rougher, greedier, and Leah whimpered with raw feeling. Lana's fingertips danced along Leah's fleshy thigh, then disappeared up her dress. When she cupped Leah's sex, the girl moaned and writhed, her eyelids fluttering and her small breasts heaving. Lana's hand was bigger, stronger, and more manly than Leah's or Leanne's, and Leah's pussy felt somehow smaller and more delicate in its hold, like a fragile spring rosebud, and that increased her arousal even more.

"You're really hot," Lana said huskily. She kissed Leah's temple and the corner of her eye, humid breath tickling her skin, "like a little oven. Do you get turned on a lot?"

"Yes," Leah panted, unaware that she was slowly undulating against her aunt's hand. When Lana's middle finger slipped between her lips and stroked her middle, blinding white passion filled her skull. A long, trembling groan exploded from her lips and she tightened her grip on the blanket.

"Are you turned on now?" She teased her finger along Leah's center and wrapped her lips around her pounding pulse.

"It feels so good," Leah moaned.

"Have you ever been touched?"

She reached Leah's clit and plucked it. Leah's mind scrambled and flashes of colors exploded across the back of her twitching eyelids in a fireworks display of carnal overload. She tried to speak but her words turned into a breathless hitch and her toes curled. Lana, swept away in her own ardor, let the question drop and laid Leah back. Leah's heart stopped and she shot her aunt a worried look. Lana grinned up from between her legs, and slipped her hands around the back of Leah's thighs, arranged them in a sloppy M. She had a roundabout idea of what Lana was about to do, and her stomach clinched. "Wait," she said, "I'm on my period."

Mom was on top of Leanne now, Leanne's knees tight against her hips. Mom thrust her hand down the front of Leanne's underwear, and shivering, Leanne buried her face in the crook of Mom's neck and nipped the like a small, excited dog.

Lana pushed Leah's dress up around her hips, baring her simmering pussy to the cool air, and lovingly ran her palm over it. "You're becoming a woman," Lana admired. It was clear from the thickness in her voice that this aroused her. She leaned forward and placed a kiss on the mound of flesh above Leah's slit, and Leah's flesh tightened. Lana kissed her again, lower this time, the sultry kiss of her breath on Leah's tender middle making her hyperventilate. When Lana's wet tongue lapped her clit, her heart crashed to a halt and sensations more powerful than anything she had ever known streaked into the center of her brain. She moaned, lifted her butt off the bed, and grinded her core wetly against Lana's face. Leah grabbed handfuls of the blanket and held tight, her hips jerking faster as Lana licked, kissed, and sucked her pulsing nub. She sucked it into her mouth and Leah cried out, her hands flying to the back of her aunt's head and her fingers tangling in her blonde hair. She felt like she was on fire and moments away from detonating like a nuclear bomb; she threw her back and humped faster, harder, pressing Lana's face deep into her crotch and wrapping her legs around the older woman's neck in a rough X. Each expert stroke of Lana's tongue knocked an abject, "Oh," from Leah's lips and pushed her closer to the edge.

Lana pulled back, and as Leah watched through slitted eyes, she took the string attached to Leah's tampon between her teeth and seductively pulled it out, the sensation of it sliding against her throbbing walls making her eyelids flutter. Lana grinned naughtily, bits of bloody toilet paper stuck to her lips and chin and faint red stained the flesh around her mouth like Kool-Aid. She slid the tampon out and flung it aside, then plunged back in. Her movements were slow and before, those of a teacher coaxing a timid pupil, but now they were faster, more frenetic, her tongue squirming and pillaging Leah's opening, tracing its outline, dipping inside, lashing her center and making rough, kinky love to her clit.

Across the room, Mom slid Leanne's underwear down, then helped the little girl out of her nightgown. Leanne sat naked before her, face blushing like crazy and her tiny, budding chest expanding and contracting rapidly. Mom pulled her own dress off in a spill of blonde hair and whipped it away; Leanne's eyes widened slightly at Mom's perky breasts; her nipples were hard, her areolas light pink. Mom leaned over, kissed her, and in a moment she stretched out side by side, Mom throwing one leg possessively over Leanne's hips, digging her heel into her butt, and pulling her to her chest.

The sensory assault of Lana's tongue knocked Leah into trembling silence, her vocal cords locked, her heart staggering, her middle balling like a fist; her eyes opened wide, her teeth raked her lower lip, and her hips slammed desperately forward. She tugged her aunt's hair, mewled wordless oaths in the back of her throat, moaned in inarticulate fervor.

Laying her hands on Leah's quivering stomach, Lana pulled back, got to her knees, and hurriedly undid her belt. Leah was almost certain her aunt did not have a penis, yet she fully expected one to pop out. She was a little disappointed (and a lot relieved) when she yanked down her plain white underwear and revealed she was equipped with what a woman ought to be equipped with. She peeled them off and climbed on top of Leah, her knees forcing her legs apart. Leah's heart blasted and she stared apprehensively into her aunt's downturned face. Lana ran her fingertips up Leah's arms, threaded them through Leah's, and pinned them to above her head in a V. She rocked her hips forward, and their seeping cores rubbed together. Leah bit her bit her bottom lip and spread her legs as far as they would go. Lana's face filled her world, and Leah claimed her lips, they tongues whipping and swirling as, in unison, they began to move, Lana down and Leah up, their fluids mingling and gushing down the crack of Leah's ass, staining the covers with the musky scent of woman and girl. Lana increased her speed, their lips mashing and grinding, their clits trading fleeting kisses, their hands clutching one another. Lana bowed her head and kissed Leah's neck; the headboard beat a porngraphic tempo against the wall, and the sounds of slipping, slapping, sliding, grunting, kissing, and shlicking filled the dank air.

Mom snaked her hands around Leanne's hips and grabbed her butt; they thrusted with the frantic urgency of two lovers approaching their mutual climax. Leanne shifted on top of her aunt, clung to her like a small monkey to its mother, and humped violently, her pale, bare bottom flying back and forth. Mom spread her legs and gamely let the little girl go, her fingers brushing affectionately through her hair and a profoundly satisfied expression on her scarlet face.

Lana broke from Leah's lips and pressed their foreheads together; she rasped and shook, beginning to unravel and fall apart. Leah threw her legs around her waist and slid her hips back and forth, the slick friction steadily becoming too much to handle. Her core knotted, her stomach swelled, and every muscle in her body coiled in anticipation of her orgasm.

When it hit, she screamed and convulsed like a Pentacostal in the sweaty throes of religious ecstasy. Lana gave one final push, then stared to shake as well, her hands crushing Leah's and ragged puffs of humid air filling Leah's mouth. Her lips parted, and Lana's tongue wormed its way in; Leah flicked it with hers, and they kissed as they rode out their end, their tacky folds sticking and rubbing to the finish.

Next door, Leanne's hips slammed into Mom's; Mom petted her back in long, smooth strokes, and when the little girl cried out, signifying that she had reached her peak, she wrapped her arms around her and held her close while she bucked and came, her butt clenching tight with the intensity of her orgasm. Spent and panting, she fell limp on Mom's chest, and Mom kissed the top of her head.

Lana released Leah's hands, pecked her lips, and dropped beside her with a grunt. Leah stared up at the ceiling and caught her breath; her pussy and inner thighs were slick with hers and Lana's cum and probably blood, and aftershocks went through her, starting in her toes and sweeping north, making her twitch and jerk as they set random nerve ending ablaze. Lana brushed her sweaty bangs from her eyes and swallowed with an audible click. "And that's pretty much it," she said. She reached down and scratched her matted pubic hair; her fingers came away bloody, and without a second thought, she sucked them clean like a woman in a commercial for steak sauce (_A1...it's _that _important_). "Do you like boys?" she asked.

"Yeah," Leah said. Her dress was bunched up under her breasts and she pulled it down just enough to cover her vagina.

"Well, it's different with them, obviously. They have pricks and, y'know, there's penetration involved."

Leah thought back to Palmer's erection, and while her stomach clawed with dread, her pussy ached to be filled, spread, and her cervix to be battered into splinters. "D-Does it hurt?" she asked.

"A little bit," Lana said, "at first, then it feels really good." A knowing grin ran across her lips and she turned her head to Leah. "Are there any boys you like?""

That question caught Leah off guard and her mind blanked. "Uh...n-no, not really, I mean…"

Lana propped herself up on one elbow and laid a comforting hand on Leah's chest. "You can tell me. We just had sex, that's a hell of a bond."

She supposed her aunt was right, but she still didn't know what to say. She couldn't say she liked Palmer because she wasn't sure. She liked his dick, or what little she had seen of it, but he was kind of annoying...though his general geekitude was kind of attractive in a shameful fetish sort of way. "Well," she faltered, "there is _kind _of one, I guess, but I'm not really sure."

"What's his name?" Lana asked.

Leah missed a beat; the thought of saying his name out loud, admitting she maybe in some shape or form "liked" Palmer McBride, set her guts in knots. Lana watched her expectantly, and in her eyes, Leah saw no judgement or mocking, only a simple and earnest desire to know and to help...if she could. Leah still couldn't bring herself to meet her aunt's gaze, or to speak above an embarrassed mumble, when she replied. "You know Palmer?"

"Him?" Lana asked with a hint of surprise. Leah's face burned with humiliation and she nodded submissively. "There's nothing wrong with him," Lana hastened to add, perhaps to spare her feelings, "I just didn't think you'd be into someone like him. You know?"

"I don't know if I am," Leah said exasperatedly, "he's dorky and annoying and I kind of want to hit him, but I also want to kiss him and do other stuff with him."

Lana nodded understandingly. "Okay...then do it."

Leah cocked her brow. That wasn't very good advice; it was like telling someone with cancer to just get better, or a serial killing victim to simply stop being killed. Palmer was like a...what's something that's really gross and everyone would mercilessly tease you for doing, but you like to do anyway? Picking your nose then slurping the boogers off your finger? She did that all the time, but Palmer was different, right?

"I don't know," she demurred, "I don't think I _really _like him, I just like him being a boy. Cuz boys really turn me on."

Lana snorted. "Yeah, they do. Look, it's up to you what you wanna do. One thing you need to realize is Palmer, like your Dad, is a frail, sensitive little thing. Most boys are. And you have to be careful with him. Don't lead him on and don't break his heart. Nothing hurts as bad a liking someone only to have them not like you back...especially when you think they do. Your dad had a girlfriend a long time ago who really hurt him. Don't do the same thing. It's cruel."

Leah considered her aunt's warning long into the night, and when she finally drifted into weary slumber, she was even more confused than she was before.


	4. Eating Some Face

There were two things Palmer McBride loved over all else: The ladies and a healthy, well-balanced breakfast. The former sustained the heart, and the latter...sustained the heart as well, but in a different way. Sitting down at the kitchen table Thursday morning, Palmer was pleased to find egg whites, turkey bacon, a grapefruit, and a glass of organic orange juice waiting for him. He rubbed his hands crisply together, tucked a napkin into the collar of his plaid shirt, and picked up his fork. "Thanks, Mom," he piped.

His mother, dressed in black slacks and a pink sweater, came over, bent, and kissed his forehead, which tickled. "You're welcome, honey. Eat up." She stroked the side of his face and smiled at him.

"Sure thing."

He turned and fell in with restrained vigor, going first for the eggs, then pausing to carve off a piece of bacon. Mom was a vegan herself, but occasionally let him and Dad have meat, Palmer if he was a good boy and did his lessons and Dad...Palmer didn't know, but it was probably sexual in nature.

For him, a fourteen year old boy halfway to fifteen, _everything _was sexual; sex, women, and women's garmets dominated his every other waking thought. Each female he saw in public or on TV was attractive, and every time he passed the woman's underwear display at K-Mart, he made sure to stop in for a quick sniff. If he happened to catch a glimpse of smooth, silky legs, long hair, or pink, pouty lips, he'd spend the rest of the day thinking about it until he jacked off...which he could only do late at night, into a crusty tube sock, because mother and father were the overbearing sort. They constantly came into his room unannounced and fussed over every little thing. The term, he believed, was _helicopter parents, _called such because adherents to the HP philosophy hover over their children like helicopters.

Palmer didn't mind being coddled or overprotected, he just wished he had more time to play with himself, that's all; concentrating with full testes was just as difficult as concentrating on an empty stomach, if not more so.

Thus is the curse of puberty, when hormones go haywire, your body floods with need, and the opposite sex - their fair, silky skin, soft eyes, curvaceous bodies, scent, and wiles - consume your entire being. It would be over with shortly, or so he had read, he just needed to endure a few more years of total suffering and then he would be free. No more lust hazed fugues, no more wandering eyes, and, most importantly, no more expelling his seed in lonely and ritualistic midnight sessions. He would be a man and men do not feel this way. Men are 100 percent in control of their emotions and desires.

Only a few more years.

Of course, there was one other way to quench the never ending fire in his pants, and that was by sinking himself into a the balming, blissful relief of a woman's flesh. A simple matter, really, but while he exuded confidence, he was beginning to suspect that maybe he was just a little bit of a dork. Why else would every girl he ever asked out reject him? And it wasn't mere rejection, it was often accompanied by disgusted looks, gagging, retching, and looks of terror, as though they had been chosen by a terrible creature to be its mate and bear its deformed and possibly demonic offspring. Perhaps they were all frigid, but he didn't think so. The only common denominator between them - girls of every stock, race, creed, social caste, and personality type - was him.

What was it about him that repelled the fairer sex? He was handsome, intelligent, loving, and dressed like the middle class gentleman he was, which served to subtly inform females that he was not only smart and sexy, but could provide them a decent standard of living. Even so, every single one he approached sent him away, and went for bad boy types who would wind up flipping hamburgers for a living, at best, or doing hard time at worst. The types that hit their girlfriends not with random hugs and kisses but with random fists instead. No matter how much he virtue signaled and played white knight, he made absolutely no headway in the love department.

Then, Monday afternoon, Leanne Loud dry humped him.

Immediately afterwards, as he shuffled home (bent at the waist to hide his unseemly erection), he believed that, perhaps, he was mistaken. It was a physical assault, and his addled, hormone drenched, love starved teenage brain turned it into something more. Being deprived of oxygen by small hands and feeling the bite of tiny, clear polished fingernails _was _quite enjoyable once he got over the initial shock, therefore he must have mistaken its character.

As time wore on and the encounter ran through his mind on an endless loop like a suggestive GIF, he came to the conclusion that he _wasn't _mistaken. Leanne's face was clenched in rage at the start, but when she felt his erection pressing against her center - bare save for her panties, as her skirt had pooled about his crotch - her eyes widened in pleasant surprise, and her cheeks blushed a lovely shade of pink. She jerked her eyes to his, demanding at first (_what's happening, you cretin!),_ then softening with slurry enjoyment. She loosened her grip just enough that he could breathe, then slowly, deliberately, moved her hips back and forth, "grinding" him. His erection grew and prodded her insistently (but respectfully!); her breath caught, mouth dropped open, and something approaching panic flickered through her eyes, suggesting that she was feeling things that were unfamiliar to her, but highly stimulating nonetheless. He could feel the outline of her vagina through his pants, and when she slid back, the friction brought him so close to ejaculation that he bit his nails into the pavement in an effort to stay himself. She swallowed, and her palms traveled down his chest before coming to stop on his pectorals, her fingers splayed. His hand, operating under its own power, went to hers and laid gently atop it. Their eyes met, and something passed between them...then she jumped up and ran away.

He couldn't account for that (perhaps she was late for something?), but by Wednesday evening, he was all but certain that she enjoyed the thrilling moment they shared just as keenly as he himself did. Did she masturbate to the memory later on as well? Did she wonder what it would have felt like if they'd been naked instead of fully clothed? He did. As a matter of fact, those thoughts had been tormenting him for days, crowding out everything else and making it difficult to go about his life. His stomach clutched every time he recalled her shimmering brown eyes and the warm weight of her astride him, and if he dwelled on the sensation of her tiny hands crushing his windpipe, he would become instantly erect.

It occurred to him that he was, perhaps, a bit of a masochist, for many of the fantasies that brief but glorious meeting spun off involved Leanne torturing him in some way. Never graphically, but often by visiting small cruelties upon him, such as spitting in his face. When she struck him and began to choke, her delicate features were twisted in seething hatred, and he called up that image often, lingering on her long eyelashes, her button nose, her sneering lips and bared teeth. He sorely wished that he had kissed her, for a girl had never been more beautiful to him than she was in that moment.

Not even her older sister, to whom he had been attracted since they were children. Leah Loud was, to him, the very definition of femininity, and the more he grew into his desires, the more he valued that. Her skin was soft and supple; her hips were just wide enough to suggest her biological purpose, their slopes and curves begging to be touched, held, and stoked; her butt was firm and toned; her breasts were small but beautiful, he reckoned, and if she felt any self-consciousness over their size, he would kiss them until she understood how much he cherished them; and her legs were long, shapely, her feet perfectly crafted and her French tipped toes the work of a true celestial artisan. He longed to kneel at them and cover them with prayerful kisses, then to slowly work his way upwards, kissing her calves, her knees, to slip his head under her dress and take communion straight from her sacred font until his cup runneth over.

He had wanted, since he could remember, to thread his fingers through her sandy blonde hair and to taste her pink, candy coated lips, kiss the tiny mole above the right corner of her mouth, wrap his arms around her from behind, and simply hold her. Sometimes, his arms literally ached to feel the shape of her body, and if he strained hard enough, he imagined he could almost smell the sweet, clean scent of her shampoo.

Thinking about her left him feeling nauseous and lovesick...now thinking of Leanne was having the same effect.

He cut a piece of egg off and forked it into his mouth, chewing thoroughly before swallowing. He would have to strive his best to forget the two angelic sisters across town; he rarely ever saw them and their paths seldom crossed. Chances are he wouldn't see them again for weeks or even months. That prospect was not a happy one, but it was not necessarily sad either - he was cursed to pine from afar, and doing so, admiring their beauty, wanting to touch and kiss them but never being able to, was like being gutted, then cut into tiny pieces.

Best to just put them out of his mind. Soon, the raw, oozing wounds would scab over and he'd be back to his old self.

Presently, Mom came into the kitchen from the living room, where she had apparently gone without him noticing. "I need to run a few errands this morning," she said in a hurried tone, which told him she just realized this, "so we'll get started on your work later."

"Okay," he said, "I'll just categorize my stamp collection while I wait."

Mom grabbed a cup of coffee, slammed it, then came over and kissed him on the forehead again. "I should be back in an hour and a half."

When she was gone, Palmer took a sip of orange juice and idly glanced at the clock on the microwave. It was just past seven and -

He started.

If he hurried, he could contrive to meet Leah and Leanne on their way to school.

For a moment he sat where he was in tangled indecision, then, without conscious thought, he sprang to his feet, the chair toppling over and striking the floor, and rushed into his bedroom. He dropped onto the edge of his bed, pulled a pair of white socks on, then his shoes. He stood, minced over to the closet, and flung the door open, acutely aware of time slipping through his fingers. He grabbed a forest green cardigan, slipped into it, and started for the door, but stopped. He wanted to look extra nice today, so he went back and selected a fedora from his collection. Setting it on his head, completely oblivious to the fact that he looked like someone's grandfather, he left the house, locking the door behind him, and went down the walk. Because his back muscles were weak and standing upright hurt, he leaned back like a palm tree in gale force winds and slipped his thumbs through the straps of his suspenders.

His house sat on a wide corner lot dominated by a large oak tree; a wrought iron fence separated the yard from the sidewalk, and at the gate, he turned right. Other houses, all large and richly appointed, flanked the street, Bentlys Jaguars, and Cadillacs sitting in brick driveways like dutiful pets. Ahead, a group of boys in private school uniforms made their way toward Ridgewood Academy. Palmer politely shouldered his way through them. "Excuse me, fellas."

One shoved him and called him a fag; another bumped roughly into him and knocked him to the ground. "Nice highwaters," a third snorted.

Palmer grinned. "Thanks. I like showing a tasteful amount of sock."

"And tasting cock."

Palmer held up his finger and opened his mouth to point out that he was absolutely not a homosexual, but the boys were already a quarter block away, their taunting laughter trailing behind them. Ribbing and roughhousing were time honored social rituals and Palmer was proud to have been included. "See you, guys!" he called and waved after them.

Getting to his feet, he brushed off the seat of his pants, and set off for the Loud house, getting there just in time to see Leah and Leanne disappear around a corner some two blocks distant. His heart skipped a staggering beat and a pang tore through his stomach.

They were getting away!

Holding onto his hat with both hands, he gave chase, his long, gangly legs taking huge and shaky steps. His back stung and his chest tightened with the makings of an asthma attack, but he ignored both and quickened his pace. When he reached the end of the street, he bent, clasped his hands to his knees, and fought to catch his breath. Unable to do it on his own, he whipped out his inhaler, took a hit, and rolled his neck.

Let's do this.

* * *

Thursday morning dawned cloudy and unseasonably warm. Leah pulled on a pink, sleeveless dress and white Keds while Leanne buttoned her white blouse. Ashen gray light, the color of dirty dishwater fell through the window, and in the gloom, Leanne's face was drawn and strained, as though she were struggling to keep herself from falling apart and barely succeeding. Leah felt much the same way her sister looked, and when she was finished getting ready, she sank onto the edge of her bed with a deep sigh. Leanne tied her shoes, laid her hands on her knees, and pointed her stormy eyes at the floor.

Last night, they were both horny, so they had sex the way Mom and Aunt Lana showed them, Leah on top at first then Leanne, but no matter how fast they went, how raw they rubbed each other, or how many times their bodies came, it was never good enough; Leah likened it to eating a fun sized bag of Doritos when all you really want is a big, black, juicy dic - hamburger, big, juicy hamburger. She fucked her little sister hard and fast three times, but it didn't satisfy her; there was an itch deep inside of her, one that she couldn't reach, one that grew stronger and more irritating the more she tried and failed to scratch it.

She was no means an expert in matters such as these, but even she knew that there was only one thing that could cure the awful, never ending tingle...and it was a thing she was both mesmerized by and totally afraid of. For one, there was the physical aspect. Lana said it hurt _a little _then felt good. Leah knew instinctively that she could trust her aunt, but at the same time, the idea of actually being penetrated by a penis was super intimidating. The night before last, she resolved to practice by fucking herself with her hairbrush. She lay back against her pillow, propped her legs up in an M, hiked her dress up around her hips, and pressed it to her entrance. Her heart raced, her stomach churned, and her lungs squeezed, her anxiety reaching critical levels as she slowly slid the tip in; it stung and felt really strange, and after a few minutes locked in trepidation, she took it out again with a sigh of defeat.

Her body yearned for the sensation of being rutted and filled, but her mind rebelled at the prospect. She was caught in the middle of a war she could not fully understand, but knew that there was only one eventual outcome. Her mind could fight all it wanted, but one day her body was going to win.

And probably sooner rather than later; what she did with Lana and Leanne was like taking a sip of water when you're really dehydrated...it only made her want more, _need _more. Her skin burned with fever and her core cried endlessly out to be pierced and spread. No amount of masturbating or lesbian sex with her little sister would cut it; she didn't want chips, she wanted a freaking _steak, _and if she didn't get one soon, she was going to go out of her mind.

But...but...that's where the emotional aspect came into play. Aunt Lana said boys were fragile little flowers and (basically) that you can't just pump them and dump them or else you'll break their hearts. Leah herself had never been heartbroken, but she could imagine it hurt, and she really didn't want to cause someone that type of pain. She was horny and wanted sex but not really a relationship, therefore she was kind of stuck. At least...she didn't think she wanted a relationship right now. She went from not being interested in boys to being gripped in the thores of puberty, where all thoughts were of doing things to them, not, like, talking about her feelings and going on dates; her focus had always been on sex and not boyfriend-girlfriend type thing, so she didn't really know.

Take Palmer for instance. Could she see them going to the movies together and having a good time? As far as she could tell, they didn't really have any of the same interests. His voice was kind of aggravating too, and he was kind of a mama's boy, and dressed like Mr. Rogers, and wheezed when he walked, and was a giant nerd.

No, she didn't think she _could _see them out on the town.

But did she want a piece of arm candy to go to parties with?

No...she wanted a guy to have sex with.

Which brought her back to the whole boys having hearts of glass thing again.

Although...sex brings people closer together. Lana said it was a _hell of a bond_, and in the few days since their little tryst, Leah had come to feel a profound sense of tenderness toward her aunt, and Leanne for Mom. The latter two talked and interacted more, and last night, Leanne even snuggled up to Mom on the couch like a softhearted kitten, something she didn't even do with her own mother. That afternoon, Leah sat on Lana's lap while they waited for dinner and told her about her day; Lana rubbed a comforting circle between her shoulder blades and Leah wrapped one arm around the older woman's neck. She'd also felt the urge to hug her aunt more, and, once, to hold her hand at the dinner table. Not because she was in love with her, but because they shared something really special, and when you do that with someone, you can't help feeling for them.

If that was true (and she thought it was), she would probably find, or create, affections for Palmer were they to do it.

Or was she just making excuses so she could get in his pants guilt free?

Ugh, why does this have to be so difficult? What's wrong with boys? Why can't they just enjoy no strings attached like girls? Why do their feelings have to get involved? She blew a frustrated puff of air and slumped her shoulders. Palmer was kind of a dork and maybe brought a lot of his suffering on himself, but she didn't hate him...in fact, she pitied him. If she had to break someone's heart to get a little action, it wouldn't be his.

She looked up and Leanne, whose face simmered with crimson color. Her eyes were clouded with smoke and her breathing was ragged. "You okay?" she asked.

The little girl didn't reply for a long time. "No," she finally said, her voice like a feeble spark in the night, "I'm really turned on and I'm getting really sick of it."

Leah nodded understandingly. "I feel your pain, I -"

"No, you _don't,_" Leanne snapped, "I used to get turned on by thinking about choking and stabbing people, now all I can think about is kissing Palmer McBride. Passionately." Her lips puckered up in a sour grimace. "And having sex with him, and looking into his beautiful brown eyes again a-a-and I don't even know who I am anymore." She jumped to her feet and scurried out, her head hung in shame. Leah watched her go, mouth agape; from the uncharacteristic animation in her voice and the haunted look flickering candle-like beneath the swirling clouds of lust in her eyes, she could only assume that Leanne was being completely serious...that kind of stuff _did_ get her off...which meant she wasn't an edgy little tryhard after all.

Wow.

Terrifying.

But not as terrifying as the possibility of breaking someone's heart and having her pelvis broken in return. She trusted Lana, but Lana was a grown woman, so her vagina was apt to be a little more...uh...accommodating. As in...you know...bigger.

Then again...she wasn't always a grown woman. She, Dad, and Mom had been together for a very long time - how long, she didn't know, but most likely since they were kids. That meant she _probably _had sex before her euipment was technically ready.

I know.

I'll ask.

Pushing to her feet, she grabbed her backpack from its spot between the bed and the nightstand, slung it over one shoulder, and went into the hall. Light spilled from the kitchen and bathed the carpet in golden puddles, and the sounds of morning drifted forth: The rattle of the coffee pot, the hiss and gurgle of the sink, china clinking. Leanne sat at the table and glared hatefully into her cereal, as though _it _(and not her vagina) were the source of all her problems, and Mom stood with her back against the counter and a mug in her hand. She wore black slacks and a white blouse with ruffles around the neck, much like Leanne's. Her blonde hair spilled around her shoulders and her make up was freshly and precisely done: Pink lipstick, smokey blue eyeshadow, just a touch of rouge to her cheeks that, tbh, made her look like a corpse in a casket. _Oh, she looks alive. _No she doesn't, she's pale and her cheeks are abnormally red, she looks dead.

"Morning, sweetie."

"Morning, Mom," Leah said. "Did aunt Lana leave yet?"

"You just missed her," Mom replied and took a sip.

"Already?" Leah asked, strickened. Usually, Lana didn't leave until closer to eight.

"She had to drop your father off at the spa," Mom said, "it's a boys' day out."

Darn. Leah sighed and sank into an empty chair catercorner from her sister. She parked her elbows on the table and held her chin in her upturned hands, the very picture of dejection. Mom frowned, came over, and sat beside her. "What's wrong, honey?" she asked and stroked Leah's back.

She hesitated, then decided to ask her instead. She instantly thought of going to aunt Lana because of their new bond and didn't even stop to think of her mother. Sorry, Mommy. "How old were you when you and Dad first had sex?"

Mom's hand, moving soothingly up and down, froze. "Well," she started haltingly, "I, um...I was six."

Leah's jaw dropped and Leanne whipped her head up, her brows pinched in horrified astonishment. Mom lowered her gaze and nodded contritely. "Yeah. We got started really young."

Uh, yeah! Six is _very _young. When she was six, the only thing Leah felt downstairs was the occasional wetness if she held her pee too long. She looked at her mother, seeing her in a new and not entirely flattering light, and tried to remember where she was going with this before being blown away by Mom's stunning revelation.

Oh, yeah.

She did some quick mental calculations and arrived at eleven...Dad would have been eleven the first time he and Mom did it. His penis would have been big for a six year old girl...maybe even massive. She didn't know how big Palmer was, but his erection was tall, thick, and yummy; probably roughly to her pussy what Dad's dick was to Mom's back then.

"D-Did it hurt?" She leaned curiously in like a callow student to a learned master, her eyes widening as if to take in as much information as possible. Leanne gripped the edge of the table and bent forward as well, the legs of her chair scraping the floor.

Mom cast a stricken glance from one to the other, then blushed. Apparently talking about having sex with her brother was far more uncomfortable than having sex with her eleven year old niece. Strange, huh? "A little," she said with an irresolute nod, "it stung and felt...weird, you know, being full, but after a few minutes my body adjusted and it was _incredible." _She tilted her head back and fluttered her eyelids at the memory. She issued a girlish giggle and brushed her teeth across her lower lip. "It was really addicting. I wanted to do it again and again and again." Her cheeks blushed, and Leah realized with a sharp intake of breath that her mother was getting turned on.

Even though it was her mother...and she could never see herself having sex with her...it was really hot and kind of turned her on too. "What's it like?" Leanne asked.

Mom opened her mouth then bunched her lips thoughtfully. "It's like…" she trailed off. "I can't even describe it. It's the best ever. Trust me."

Well, _that _wasn't very enlightening. "I'm just kind of...scared," Leah confessed, "of it hurting."

Mom rubbed her back and again as if to reassure her. "Honey, trust me, it's not bad. Your vagina's _made _for it. That and pushing out babies, which hurts _waaaay _worse."

"But it's really, like...small," Leah worried.

"They're supposed to be, but it expands. It's, like, elastic." She pursed her lips. "Wait here."

She got up and went into the hall, and Leah stared curiously after her. A moment later, she came back holding something in her hand: It was hot pink, thick, and roughly eight inches long. Leah's heart skipped.

It looked like a dick.

"Come here."

Leah's muscles locked. Mom's features softened. "Honey, it's okay, I'll show you it doesn't hurt."

Leah's eyes darted fearfully from her mother's face to the dildo and her stomach twisted.

She'd have to do it eventually...why not with someone she completely trusted? A boy might get carried away and be rough or not stop when she asked him to, but looking into her mother's loving eyes, she knew that Mom would never hurt her.

Swallowing thickly, she got shakily to her feet and went to her mother. Leanne watched for a moment, then stood and followed, her eyes dancing with wonder and dark merriment. Mom nodded to the couch. "Lay down and take your underwear off."

Leah glanced anxiously at the sofa, then at her mother. "I promise I'll be gentle," Mom said.

Taking a deep breath, Leah forced herself over to the couch and stood there, staring down at it as though it were alive and dangerous. Her resolve wavered, but she reached under her dress, hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties, and slid them down her legs anyway. When they fell slack around her feet, she stepped out of them, sat, then lay grimly back and dug her heels into the couch. Mom knelt beside her, gripped the didlo, and pulled Leah's dress to the bottom of her breasts. Leah squeezed her eyes tightly shut and fought to regulate her breathing.

Leanne knelt next to Mom, rested her hands on her knees, and watched with dark curiosity. When the tip prodded Leah's opening, she jumped. "Relax, baby," Mom said, "take deep breaths."

Leah nodded gamely and inhaled through her nose. "Tell me how it feels," Leanne said like a girl sending someone else to test the water.

Mom laid her free hand on Leah's bare stomach, and it quivered under the silky warmth of her touch. "Are you ready?" she asked.

Leah drew a shivery breath and nodded. "Yes," she said. Her voice was small and weak.

The tip of the dildo pushed past her sticky folds and spread her entrance; red, stinging pain filled Leah's skull and she gasped. "Relax," Mom said and rubbed a slow, sensual circle against Leah's stomach, the kiss of her flesh making Leah's hips arch with electric sensation. Leah braced herself, and the dildo slid gradually into her, pushing her walls apart and straining against her pelvis. Her eyes flew open and she clutched the cushion with hooked talons. She felt _full, _that was the only way to describe it, and like she was going to split in half. Aching agony rippled through her and she started to hyperventilate, her lungs throbbing in time with her unsteady heartbeat. Leanne rocked forward and flashed a sadistic grin. The hooked head raked her spasming walls with cruel deliberation, and Mom ran her hand lightly up and down, from the bottom of her breasts to the quivering mound of flesh above her slit.

The pain intensified and Leah moaned; dazzling white excruciation swelled against her skull and tears filled her eyes. "It's okay, honey," Mom said, "we're almost there."

A strange and deeply unnatural feeling pinched the back of her womb, then the dildo slowly withdrew. Mom's hand drifted down and her middle finger brushed Leah's clit, making her jerk. Leah sucked her bottom lip into her mouth to stifle a cry and tore at the cushion, her body at the queer and spinetingling juncture of pleasure and pain, where sensations were so strong, so raw, that what hurt felt good and what felt good hurt. Her pelvic muscles clenched and shook as if to squeeze the invader out and her flesh glowed with heat, as though her body were trying to melt it down.

Mom pulled the dildo almost all the way out, then gently pushed it back in, her finger making slow, firm circles in Leah's clit. This time, she was ready, and the pain was less. The head kissed the opening of her cervix and a breathy exhalation burst from her lips. Mom rubbed faster and set a gentle pace, the dildo gliding smoothly back and forth on a tide of sizzling lubrication, each forward thrust stoking the fire in Leah's stomach higher and higher until it raged out of control. She bit her bottom lip and slid her hips in unison with her mother's motions, a low squeal trembling in the back of her throat and boiling passion rushing through the chambers of her soul. Leanne panted for air, her face almost as red as her sister's, and Mom leaned over, both hands ministrating to her daughter's needs.

Leah's middle knotted and she could feel every atom rushing to her stomach for the final explosion like neutrons to the flashpoint of a hydrogen bomb. She threw her free arm behind her, grabbed the arm of the couch, and bucked faster, hissing through clamped teeth and starting to shake.

"Cum for me, baby," Mom urged huskily.

The leaden pressure in Leah's center flashed like the dying supernova sun, and she threw her hips out one last time, taking the dildo all the way to the hilt and bucking crazily against her mother's hand; clear, molten fluid gushed out around the silicon shaft and coursed down the crack of her butt in hot sticky rivulets. Her back arched deeply, then she fell limp against the couch and brushed her hair out of her eyes. Mom slid the dildo out and dropped it on the floor; she smiled dearly and fussily pulled the hem of Leah's dress over her trembling pussy. "There," she said, "was that so bad?"

Pulsing stalks of feeling spider-veined through Leah's body, one particularly powerful one making her jump and shocking a giggle from her throat. She took inventory of herself and considered her mother's question. Her pelvis was kind of achy and her knees trembled, but the warm, fizzy bliss surging through her was really, really nice. "No," she said and drew herself up on her elbows, "it was actually really good."

Mom patted her leg. "The real thing feels even better," she said. She furrowed her brows sternly and wagged her finger at Leah. "But if you do have sex with a boy, make sure he doesn't cum in you. I'd like to wait on grandkids for right now."

Oh, no worries there. Leah did _not _want kids. "I will."

"Good," Mom said. She turned to Leanne. "Do you want to try next?"

Leanne considered for a moment, then gave an apprehensive head shake. "Can you eat me instead?" she asked hesitantly.

Mom bent and rubbed her nose playfully against Leanne's, eliciting a girlish giggle from her that was uncannily out of character. "Of course I can."

Leah sat up to make room, and Leanne plopped down next to her. She kicked her shoes off, baring her black socks, and slid her panties down. Mom pulled them over her ankles for her and threw them aside. Leanne shifted positions, braced her feet on the edge of the couch, wrapped her arms around her legs like she was going to do a cannonball, and parted her knees to reveal her pink, hairless lips, already moist and swollen with anticipation like a blossoming flower. Mom scooted closer, brushed her hair out of her face, and leaned impishly in, her smutty eyes rolling up and locking with Leanne's and her pink lips curling up in a Mona Lisa smile. She slipped her hands under Leanne's butt, palms up, drew her a little closer, and molded her lips to Leanne's folds. The little girl's breath caught and she tilted her head back, her blonde hair falling away from the gentle crest of her bobbing throat. Her warm scent reached Leah's nostrils, and she breathed deeply, a quiver rippling through her core like dropping a pebble into still waters.

Mom dragged the tip of her tongue up between Leanne's lips like a cat licking itself in a bar of sunshine, and Leanne brought her hips slowly forward, then back. Mom swirled her tongue around Leanne's clit, then laughed merrily when she jumped. She did it again, and Leanne moaned.

Leah was starting to get turned on again, like developing a new fever moments after the last one broke, and to spare herself further suffering, she got up and went to the bathroom. Alone, she peed, put a tampon in, and brushed her hair again since it got kind of messy during hers and Mom's sex play. Back in the living room, Leanne, legs wrapped around Mom's neck in an X, humped furiously; she pulled madly at Mom's hair like a rider on the mane of a runaway horse and uttered a breathless _uh _with every thrust. She whipped her head to one side, half twisted and shuddered with the power of her climax. Her gyrating slowed, then stopped, and the only sound was her ragged breathing. She opened her legs, and Mom pushed away from the couch, the back of her hand swiping across her glistening lips. "You guys better hurry, you're going to be late."

Ten minutes later, Leah and Leanne walked side by side down the sidewalk. There was a happy spring in Leanne's step and as they turned right onto Hillsdale Avenue, she started to hum a light airy tune. Leah watched her from the corner of her eye and lifted her brow quizzically. Earlier Leanne said _I don't even know who I am anymore_. Yeah, well, neither did Leah. "Your mom gives the best head," she piped.

Uh, pretty sure at this point she's given the _only _head. "Your mom's really good too," she said. She went back to the other day, holding Lana's hands and staring up at her as they pumped their hips in loose, sloppy unison, and a blush touched her cheeks.

"Not as good as yours," Leanne said with a dreamy sigh. "I didn't know it was possible to cum that hard."

"I -"

Someone spoke behind them, and Leah's heart dropped.

"Hiya, ladies."

Palmer.

An odd and wholly unfamiliar feeling swept through Leah like a cold, biting wind, a mixture of dread, terror, and self-consciousness edged with an emotion akin to excitement. She was beautiful and knew it and was not accustomed to worrying over her looks and what other people thought of her. Right now, however, she was painfully aware that her hair wasn't perfect and that her dress was slightly rumpled. Next to her, Leanne stared straight ahead with wide-eyed panic, as though she, too, found herself inferior.

They creaked their heads around, and Palmer stood behind them in a green cardigan and a brown fedora, which he tipped in greeting. He wore brown trousers pulled up nearly to his chest and white socks with black shoes. He looked like every seventy year old man Leah had ever seen, but her eyes went instantly to his crotch anyway. She couldn't see anything, but she knew his dick was there, waiting to be touched, tasted, and explored.

Leanne's gaze darted quickly between his face and his groin, and her cheeks flushed.

"I noticed you were without a gentleman escort yet again, and elected to remedy that, provided you will graciously allow me the distinct pleasure of accompanying you."

Leah and Leanne both stared fixedly at his crotch. There were, at most, two thin, easily removable layers of fabric between him and them; one quick flick of the wrist and he would be exposed to their hungry eyes, vulnerable, blushing, shy, his knees knocking together and his dick twitching with teenage need. They could drag him into a bush, strip him naked, and spend all day sating their girlish curiosity: Running their hands over his body, kissing his skin, playing with him, sucking him, grinding his dick until he shuddered and released globs of hot, thick, juicy boy cum…

"Uh...ladies?"

Leah and Leanne both bit their bottom lips. Both were blushing. Nostrils flaring. Eyes hazy. Identical in that moment with matching giggles.

"Ladies...my eyes are up here."

His voice broke the spell, and Leah shook her head. "S-Sorry. What were you saying?"

Palmer beamed. "I was offering to escort you and your lovely sister to school."

A giddy laugh burst from Leanne's lips and she coyly bowed her head. Leah looked him up and down, and despite everything aunt Lana said about being careful and not breaking boys' hearts, and despite her own self-doubts and misgivings, she felt herself beginning to fall forward, into a chasm of heedless lust. She made a vain and half-hearted attempt to pull back from the precipice...then let herself drop. "Sure," she said, and glanced at Leanne, who nodded vigorously, "we'd love you to walk us."

Palmer opened his mouth as if to plead his case, then started. "You would?"

Instead of replying, then fell on him like bloodthirsty vampires, each slipping their arm through one of Palmer's and dragging him along between them. His warmth and smell, moth balls and acne cream, worked on Leah's senses like an aphrodisiac, and she clutched him tighter; his upper arm brushed her breast, and a shocked yelp jerked from his throat, the sound of a man whose nuts just touched cold water. He whipped his head back and forth from one to the other, shocked, and opened and closed his mouth like a fish, searching for words but so bowled over by his good fortune that he was struck speechless. It was so cute that Leah's center turned to jelly. "What do you like to do for fun?" she quizzed him.

Leanne stared up at him with puppy dog eyes and an adoring smile, her fingers kneading his arm. He turned from her to Leah, and an intimidated tremor went through his frame when she flashed the biggest, warmest smile she could muster. "I-I have a stamp collection," he offered.

Hm. Kind of dorky but she could work with that. "What kind of music do you like? Rap? Rock? Country?"

They came to the intersection and stopped. Both girls clutched him and gazed unwaveringly at his face. He blushed and swallowed hard. "Uh, uh...b-blueglass."

Leah had no idea what that was, but she didn't care; they could listen to it all day if he wanted to, even as they slept...just so long as he cuddled her from behind and kissed the back of her neck. Ooooh, she'd never had anyone do that to her before, but she already knew she liked it.

"Who's your favorite serial killer?" Leanne asked.

Palmer forced a nervous laugh. "I can't say I'm familiar with many serial murderers."

"That's okay," Leanne said, "I'll teach you all about them." She batted her eyelashes. "And other things too." She hugged his arm and rubbed her cheek along his sweater like a cat, metaphorical hearts floating from her like embers from a small but intense fire.

Palmer shot her a strange look, then turned to Leah. She ran her fingers up and down his arm, tracing the outline of his muscles. There wasn't much going on, but she didn't freaking care; she was horny, he was a boy, and her hormones were pushing her into him almost against her will. She looked into his eyes, and her heart knocked against her ribs; his lips were right there, inches away, begging to be kissed and licked and nibbled.

They were on the other side of the street, the sidewalk stretching to a set of railroad tracks in the distance and lined by trees on the left and lawns fronting big, American foursquare homes on the right. Cars passed languidly by, and on the other side, a group of teenagers made the pilgrimage to Royal County High.

Suddenly, Palmer gave a sharp exclamation and twisted around to look at Leanne. "Love bite," she said, and bit his arm again. Leah flicked her eyes to his ear, and caressed his throat with her gaze. His skin looked so inviting, so intoxicating.

She was so freaking turned on she could barely stand up straight. Screw _this_.

Breaking from his arm, she grabbed his face in her hands and turned his face to hers. His eyes widened with fear and he started to say something, but Leah tilted her head and silenced him with a greedy kiss, her tongue pushing roughly past his stunned lips and lashing the inside of his mouth. He went completely rigid and Leah massaged his tongue with hers just like Lana taught her, her nose drawing in his breath and her pussy welling with leaden desire. He stood still, paralized, and Leah pulled back, unable to keep from sucking his bottom lip. Her eyes danced with a crazed light, and Palmer regarded her with open-mouthed stupefaction. "Put your hands on my hips," she commanded.

Palmer's hands went stiffly to her hips and sharp tendrils of sensation shot into her core, the warm feeling of his palms on her body making her heart gallop. She slipped her arms around his neck, pulled him to her lips, and kissed him again, sloppier and more hungrily this time, her tongue frenziedly writhing and whirling like a fire horse out of control, prodding the roof of his mouth, battering the insides of his cheeks, and grappling with his tongue and spurring it to action; he kissed back, timid and unsure, his hands resting limply on her hips. In the heat of the moment, she grabbed one and guided it to her butt; his body, tight against hers, responded, his boner pressing incessantly against her middle and making her dizzy with passion.

Without warning, Palmer wrenched from her lips, and she opened her misty eyes. "I wanna kiss him now," Leanne said indignantly. She grabbed the front of his shirt, making him bend at the waist, then pulled herself up to her tippy toes and welded her lips to his. His arms flapped and wheeled, lending him the appearance of a klutzy bird trying (and miseraly failing) to take flight, and his bowed knees swung back and forth, knocking together then apart, together then apart. Leah watched for a moment, her body consumed, then snatched the back of his shirt and heaved him away from Leanne; she stumbled and caught herself before falling, eyes slurry and her mouth a love drunk squiggle. Leah spun him to face her and moved in to attack his lips, but stopped when his eyes rolled back into his head. He went slack, staggered, then pitched forward; Leah jumped aside and he flopped face first to the sidewalk, his legs and arms twitching spasmodically.

Leah's hand fluttered to her mouth, and Leanne shook her head like a girl coming out of a trance. They both looked at him, Leah with horror and Leanne bemusedly, her eyebrow raising. "What'd you do to him?" she demanded.

"H-He passed out," Leah said. Palmer lay prone, his knees slightly under him and his butt humped, reminding her of a baby asleep in its crib.

No!

I'm horny!

Beneath the bitter disappointment, something else stirred.

Panic.

"What do we do?" she asked, lowering her hand, then quickly returning it.

Leanne walked over and nudged his shoulder with her foot. "I dunno, he's out cold," she said. She stroked her chin like a philosopher pondering one of life's greatest mysteries, then her face lit up. "I know. We can carry him home, cut him up with the chainsaw -"

"No!" Leah cried. "If we cut him up, he can't be our boyfriend."

Leanne hummed. "You're right." She dropped down to one knee and shook Palmer's shoulder. He snorted and let out a delicious sounding fart. Leah sniffed the air, and its robust profile made her mouth water. "Hey," Leanne said and shook harder, "wake up, we wanna do you." She shook harder still, but received only a snore in return. She frowned and looked up at Leah. "It's not working."

Flashing, Leah stomped her foot against the ground. This wasn't fair, she was so freaking turned on she couldn't think straight; her body was on fire, she was wet, her nipples ached, the taste of his mouth lingered on her lips, and lying there all weak and defenseless, he was so fracking hot she could barely keep from mindlessly throwing herself at him. She tossed her head back, slumped her shoulders, and let out a frustrated _Uhhhh_. There was no way in hell she was walking away from him without sex.

They couldn't just jump his bones, though. They were in public, people in passing cars were craning their necks to get a better look of the specticle unfolding before them, and a man coming down the sidewalk saw them, hesitated, then turned on his heels and hurried in the other direction as though he walked in on a murder and didn't want any for himself. She blew a puff of air and crossed her arms. So retarded. She was _this _close to getting some. She -

An idea struck like a bullet from the ether. "We'll take him home," she said.

Leanne rolled her eyes. "Dad won't -"

"It's his spa day," Leah pointed out, "he's not home."

Understanding dawned in Leanne's eyes, and she flashed an evil grin. "Good idea. Help me."

Lifting and grunting, they dragged Palmer to his feet and got under his arms, the strain of dead weight nearly buckling Leah's knees. Leanne grunted, shuffled, and almost fell, but saved herself at the last minute. Palmer's head lolled against his chest and his feet dragged on the ground. "He's heavier than he looks," Leah panted.

"How do serial killers...do this?" Leanne huffed.

"I don't know, but hurry up," Leah replied through her teeth.

With an unconscious boy between them like a freshly slaughtered lamb, they started home.


	5. Ménage à Trois

For time innumerable, the boy floated deep in the bosom of the dark, without weight, without burden, without even name. Occasionally, he came close to the surface, but swam away from the muted lights and muffled sounds. He made out disjointed words but they held no meaning. _Chainsaw; boyfriend; slipping. _Once, he swore he heard _stop groping his dick and open the door. _

After that, nothing. He knew no fear, no sadness, no joy, he was free of every emotion; his club feet did not bother him; his malformed back did not ache; no one made fun of him; his half-formed consciousness sailed through the night like a spirit unchained from mortal flesh, and it was good.

Something brushed against him like an unseen fish in placid waters, and he shied away; an errant puff of humid air broke over him, and he cringed; soft silk tickled his face and he stirred; propelled to the surface, the black around him tingling with faint, gold suffsion like the sky with the first strands of dawn. A moan slipped from his working throat and the billance intensified until it filled his skull and blinded him, casting him in stark revelation like a biblical bad man in the burning glare of God's vengeful sight. Animal fear shot through him and he tried to swim back into the depths, but phantom hands drove him forward, offering him as a sacrifice. _Take him but spare us! _His brain fired off a command to his hand, lift and defend, but his fingers only jerked. _No, please! You don't want me, God, I'm all skin and bones! _

God drew him up from the depths anyway, and the light swelled, bright, blazing, hot. His lids fluttered open; his eyes stung; pain streaked over his forehead like heated air displaced by the passage of a bullet; his lungs screamed for air; and tight, clawing panic squeezed his chest like a vise.

His vision was watery and blurred, the world seething with quicksilver shadows like swirling ground mist. He blinked, and the scene came into focus; the ceiling above, a white, smooth, and unbroken plane, familiar and wholesome. His beating heart stilled and his stomach unknotted. He was home in his own bed. Heh. Of course he was. Where _else _would he be?

He raised his hand to his fevered forehead and rubbed a deep circle with the heel of his palm. Digging one elbow into the bed, he pushed himself into a sitting position...then started.

Something was wrong.

Namely...he _wasn't _in his room. His walls were a curt and pragmatic shade of light blue, here they were light pink. In place of his dresser with a vanity, its mirror framed by fat light bulbs and its shelves crowded with tubes of lipstick, bottles of perfume, and vials of nail polish. The closet door, to his left instead of his right like the one at home, stood ajar, a full length mirror revealing his haggard reflection. He jerked a harried glance to his right, and a bed sat against the wall, its dressings tangled and unmade. He planted his hands on either side of him to keep from falling over, and recoiled at unexpected softness. The blanket was downy and hot pink. A line of teddy bears and other stuffed animals sat against the pillows, their beady black eyes regarding him with cold indifference.

He licked his dry lips and looked around. Posters adorned the plaster. A pink haired pop star here, a grinning, black and white Charles Manson there. Vertigo came over him and he pressed one shaky hand to his aching temple.

Where was he?

Wracking his brain, he tried to remember how he got here but slammed into a metal wall instead. He vaguely recalled eating eggs and bacon, but whether it was that morning of another, he couldn't tell. The character of the light falling through the frilly curtains told him it was late morning or early afternoon.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and dizziness crashed against him like a rough storm surge; he clamped his hands to his knees, bent, and waited until he was steady enough to stand. He rose up on trembling knees and put his arms out to keep his balance; he took a lurching step toward the opposite bed and paused when his legs threatened to give out. When he trusted himself to continue, he staggered to the door, his hands balling at his chest and his head turning back and forth, taking the room in and feeding his disoriented brain information. Obviously he was in a female's room and -

He came to a shuffling halt.

A female's room!

Turning in a slow semi-circle like a gobsmacked tourist in an exotic port of call. Pink blankets, under which a female sleeps, assuredly dressed in very little, perhaps even still warm with her body heat and lingering with the scent of her skin; lipstick, which has touched a female's luscious lips; a dresser in which a female keeps her clothing...including her underwear.

Palmer's heart slammed a painful beat and his dick filled with life. He took a deep breath through his nose, and the faint smell of perfume, polish, and girl tantalize his senses. His erection grew and his intestines wound around each other in tight bundles. He scanned the floor and his chest crushed when he spotted a pair of pink panties balled up by the foot of the bed.

Oh, sweet mother of mercy.

A lump formed in his throat and his middle roiled like water on a stove. Panties, by their very nature, touch and caress the most beautiful and precious parts of a female's body, their fabric soaking in and retaining the fragrance of their femininity. All he had to do was walk over, pick them up, and hold them to his nose, and he would finally know the scent of woman. His dick, at full mast now, insistantly prodded the inseam of his pants, begging to be wrapped in warm cotton, thrusting into the wearer second hand, skimmed by that which has felt the heat and soft fullness of a woman's sex.

He licked his dry lips and looked around to make sure he was unobserved, then went over and stared down at them. There was a white stripe around the waistband and a light brownish stain in the crotch.

In other words, they were beautiful.

Gulping, he bent, reached out...and stopped.

Was he really going to sniff a woman's underwear? Was he really so pathetic, self-serving, and downright creepy that he would really commit such a disgusting crime? The law might not classify this as a sexual assault, but it felt like one nevertheless. It is, in a way, a violation...the most invasive betrayal of one's privacy imaginable. He imagined the horror and revulsion said female would display were she to discover him in the middle of his transgression, and his sense of decency revolted. You could say he was a lot of things (like a dork, if you squinted, tilted your head, and were willing to undertake rigorous mental gymnastics), but he absolutely was _not _a pervert. He was raised to respect women, not to treat their garments as an object for his own gratification.

Sickened with himself, he started to turn away, but a tiny, misshapen, and reclusive creature in his brain stayed his hand, so to speak. It perched on his shoulder, jammed its talons into his flesh, and leaned into his ear. _Come on, Palmer, _it whispered, _that thing touched a girl's pussy. Don't you wanna sniff them?_

Yes...no...no, he did not.

_Don't you want to lick them?_

He started to sweat.

_Put them on your dick and blow a load in them?_

God, yes, he wanted that very much, but would he be able to live with himself afterwards? Could he look at his reflection and respect what he saw?

He thought of his mother, and that decided him. Sucking a deep, pensive breath, he put his back to the alluring piece of cloth and went to the door. _No, go back! _the demon on his shoulder wailed, and his step faltered. _That's the closest you'll ever come to a vagina! _

No, that wasn't true.

_Yes it is. You're a geek, a dweeb, and no girl wants you. Stop with the act, kid. You know you're pitiful. You know every girl instinctively clamps her legs shut when you walk by. You have no game, no charm, and your genes are weak. Women are biologically hardwired to pursue men whose pheremones indicate they can bear strong and healthy children...that's why they run from you. Your pheromones reek of rot and corruption. _

While it was true that he wasn't very masculine, and while it was a fact that he was frail and sickly, he -

_Shit. You're shit. Maybe if you were handsome you could con one into fucking you, but you don't even have that. You have nothing. You're a loser and you'll always be one. _

Anguish clutched his chest in cold, steely fingers, and he drew a deep, cumbersome breath. He was well aware of his shortcomings and yes...he knew the metaphorical demon was right. When he was a young child, wheezing, weak, and shunned by the other children, driven from their presence by cruel taunts and blows like Frankenstein's monster from the company of man, he hated himself. He hated his club feet, his underformed back, his woefully nearsighted eyes - he reviled everything about himself.

One day, his mother found him crying into his pillow, sat down, and laid her hand on his back. _What's wrong, honey? _she asked worriedly. He told her how much he hated being him and she frowned. _Honey, no one's perfect. We all have flaws and if we pay attention to the bad instead of the good, it'll drive us crazy. _She said to keep a positive attitude and to always look on the bright side of things, and he trusted her entirely, therefore he strove to be light instead of dark, happy instead of sad.

Despite this, underneath all his positive energy, he knew he was deficient...defective...a socially maladjusted milksop and loser in every sense of the word.

The demon may have been right, but Palmer already had enough reasons to hate himself, he didn't need to add another.

He took a deep breath, put the underwear out of his mind, and walked the rest of the way to the door. He turned the knob and opened it.

Leah and Leanne Loud filled the frame side-by-side, Leah in a flowing pink dress, her hands on her womanly hips and a scrunchie around one wrist. She wore her dirty blonde hair down and turned her pink lips up in a sharp, risque smile. Leanne was clad in black knee high socks, a black and white checkered skirt, and a white blouse with ruffles around the neck. Her shoulders were bunched and a deranged smile carved across her face. He was reminded of a small, vicious mammal coiled and ready to launch itself at even smaller prey.

Palmer's heart fell into his stomach and he jerked from one to the other, certain that they knew exactly what he had been about to do, and would punish him. "H-Hi, uh, hiya, l-laides," he stammered and laughed nervously. He suppressed the urge to rub the back of his neck. "How is it -?"

His words cut off in a cry of alarm when Leah grabbed the front of his shirt in both hands. He started to topple back, but she held him up, a crazed light dancing in her dark eyes. She pulled him to her like a spider tugging a gossamer trapped beetle, and his mouth went dry, his gaze darting from her moist lips to her turbulent browns. Her smell, wild and musky with a hint of sweat, washed over him, and his center panged with knife slash intensity. Her breathing was labored and irregular, and bathed his lips, making him squirm. When the tips of their noses touched, her smile widened and her pupils seemed to dilate. He stared deeply into them - he knew her eyes were beautiful, but he never know just how breathtaking they were, brown with shimmering flecks of gold and shot through with strands of hazel that arrested his attention and stirred his soul.

Leanne pressed close to the right, her face turned up to his and veritable hearts in her eyes - so much like her sister's, but somehow unique, as every flake of snow is different.

"Where do you think _you're _going?" Leah purred.

Palmer opened and closed his mouth but no words came. Leanne flattened her body against his, her knees hugging his thigh and oh God her crotch pressing against his leg; she slipped her arms around his waist, pulled him closer, and looked up at him with a dreamy smile that set his heart racing. Leah tilted her head to the side and leaned in as though she were going to kiss him; a jolt went down Palmer's spine and his back arched, driving his erection into Leah's stomach. The mashing of his head into soft, yielding flesh dislodged an unsteady _nngh _from his throat. Leah's eyes seemed to glaze over with passion, and her breathing sped up. Her nose skimmed his, and her soft lips ghosted fleetingly over his lips; the sweet taste of her breath filled his mouth and he gave a violent shudder.

Smiling into his lips, Leah locked her eyes with his. "You belong to us now," she whispered. She molded their lips and kissed his him deeply; Palmer stiffened when her tongue swept into his mouth, and every never ending in his body exploded at once, flooding him with 50,000 volts of raw sensation. His arms shot reflexively out on either side of him and he swayed from side to side. His hand grasped at mid air, then landed on something warm and satiny. He went to wrench it away, but somehow his fingers tangled in Leanne's hair and and his palm cupped her cheek. She held tight to his waist and ground her core along his leg in a slow, smooth motion, scarlet color roaring across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. She leaned into his touch like a cat, then nipped his wrist, making gasp into Leah's mouth. "Love bite," she said.

Palmer's head spun, the shock and sensory overload of what was happening to him almost too much to bear; he was either going to pass out, die, or burst into confetti. Leah's tongue moved sensuously over his and her saliva dribbled down his chin; his eyes rolled back into his head and he gave himself over to the powerful feelings coursing through his body. Leanne, latched to his hip, ground his faster, her teeth digging into his skin, agony and ecstasy entwined, and Leah's middle glided slowly but insistently against his erection.

She drew back, her teeth raking his bottom lip, and looked at him with the foggy disorientation of a woman who is so drunk she can barely keep herself upright. Leanne kissed his wrist, then licked it, her breathing heavy now and her knees tightly gripping his leg. He tried to breathe, but his lungs, like his mind, refused to work, probably _couldn't _work.

"You don't know how to kiss," Leah said, "do you?"

Palmer swallowed thickly and found his voice. "N-No," he said, "I, uh, I, uh, n-never did it before."

He expected her to roll her eyes at how pathetic he was, but instead her smile sharpened. "That's okay," she said, "we can practice."

With that, she walked him backwards, her hands still clutching his shirt and her eyes twinkling. Leanne reluctantly let go and followed along. Palmer's feet tangled and he nearly fell, but Leah kept him upright; she cocled her head and favored him with a patronizing little smile. "You're really clumsy," she said.

"And really hard," Leanne blurted. He realized with a rush of horror that the bulge of his erection was clearly visible.

He blushed and started to apologize, but Leah cut him off. "You better be careful or you might fall down." Before she was even finished speaking, she shoved him back; his heart leapt into his throat and, for some reason, he was surprised when he landed softly on the bed instead of on a pointed pike. Before he could recover, Leah and Leanne jumped onto the bed and attacked him with a flurry of urgent kisses and needy touches, Leanne ripping his shirt open with frenzied abandon and Leah pressing her wet lips to his naked chest. Leanne got her knees under her, bent over, ahd trailed kisses up his chest, starting at his navel, each touch of her skin against his drawing a moan from his lips. Leah, kneeling now too, kissed down, her hair tickling and her hand splaying on his upper thigh, her thumb so close to his hard-on that he could almost feel her French tipped nail, She laid her other hand on his chest and flicked her tongue out to taste his flesh, and Leanne wrapped her lips around his nipple, the warm wetness of her mouth shocking a cry from his throat. He was so hard now it hurt, and each fluttering of angelic lips, like a Sunday devotional, fueled the fire raging in the pit of his stomach, stoking it higher and brighter until every square inch of him burned. Leanne and Leah knelt over him like two sexy nurses ministrating to a weak and weary soul and plundered his chest and stomach, their kisses leaving messy smears of molten saliva to sizzle on his flesh and Leah's hair grazing him like strands of Egyptian cotton. Leanne ran her hands gently over his midsection as a perverse pastor administering carnal baptism, and Leah's fingertips scraped the fabric covering his throbbing erection. He sucked a hissing breath and she rolled her eyes up to him. Giving him one final kiss, she turned to his dick, bit her lip, and fumbled at his belt.

Was this really happening? He glanced a Leanne, and, as if on cue, she took his nipple between her teeth and bore down; red stalks of pain shot into his head and he let out a strangled cry. She giggled and flicked her tongue against it. "Love bite," she stated.

Leah tugged at his waistband with timorous fingers, then pouted cutely and hung her head. "I can't get it," she said and laughed self-abashedly. Leanne reached for it, but bypassed it entirely at the last minute and curled her fingers around his tent; she gave it a light, investigative squeeze and Palmer moaned.

Blowing a puff of air, Leah looked at him and stuck out her bottom lip. "Can you do it?"

Do it? Do what?

Then it hit him.

This...whatever it was...blindsided him and he'd been unable to operate his brain since it began, so he'd given no thought to what exactly was happening. He was in Leah's bed, and she and Leanne were worshipping him like two horny schoolgirls alone with their first boy (probably because they were). It was only logical, therefore, that his penis would wind up exposed. A horrified quiver went through his stomach and his mouth fell open in a perfect O of discomfiture. His...ahem...equipment had hitherto never been a source of vexation, but sudden fear swelled within him.

What if it wasn't good enough for them? What if it was too small or ugly? What if he took it out, and they both gagged in disgust? He'd learned to take a lot of abuse in his life, but he wasn't sure he could weather that, not from Leah and Leanne Loud. The annoyance and strained patience they treated him with were bad enough, but….

But things were different now. Right? They kissed and touched him with the dire desideratum of starving women finally, at long last, falling on a steak. They wanted him.

Didn't they?

Leah's face was the deepest and most soul stirring shade of pink he'd ever seen, and a swirling tempest of need raged in her eyes.

There was no mistaking it.

She _did _want him.

"Do you want to see me first?" she bargained.

His eyes flickered to her chest.

She followed his gaze, and one corner of her mouth turned evilly up. Leanne peppered kisses across his stomach and trilled in the back of her throat. Leah anxiously licked her lips and rocked back on her knees. Her blush deepened, as though she were just as afraid of revealing herself to him as he was to her, and she took a deep breath. She undid the top two buttons, her fingers shaky and faltering, and Palmer watched with bated breath, so transfixed that he was barely aware of Leanne nipping at his sternum. Leah tossed her hair out of the way and coyly slipped the dress down the gentle slope of one shoulder, pale, creamy flesh coming into view. She pulled the other side down, and Palmer's heart thumped with sickly anticipation. She pressed her hand to her chest, pinning the fabric, and shrugged; the dress fell down her arms, and Palmer gorged himself on the sight of her skin, the beauty mark on her collarbone, her velvety, kissable throat.

Leanne picked at his belt with the oafish ungrace of a girl who had no idea what she was doing or how it was done.

"I'm kind of really nervous," Leah said and tittered.

"W-Why?" Palmer asked, honestly baffled. "You're beautiful."

If possible, her face blazed harder. She lowered her eyes. "Thank you," she muttered. "I've never done this," she said, then quickly added, "with a boy."

Leah Loud was, and had always been, the most stunning girl in Royal Woods, and Palmer had always admired her not simply for that, but also for her confidence. She was always so sure of herself, flitting easily through life with the aplomb of a girl who had never been relentlessly mocked, bullied, hurt, and pushed away. Thus her present reticence was mind-boggling. He imagined it didn't rear its head often, and that he was seeing it now, like a rare glimpse of an elusive and seldom beheld creature, awoke perhaps perverse feelings of privilege in him.

"I've never done this with _anybody,_" he confided. "So, uh...you got me there."

"I didn't think I'd be this nervous," Leah said, "not after what I did with my Mom and Aunt Lana."

Well, that's under -

Wait, what? Her mom and aunt? What did she do with her mom and aunt?

That thought was blown away like a blade of grass in a nuclear conflagration when she let the dress drop; it pooled around her hips, and her breasts - small, firm, globes of supple adolescent flesh - were revealed in all their glory. The air rushed from Palmer's lungs and his jaw hung slack, his chest rising and falling as his lungs wheezed for air. Her nipples were tiny yet rigid, her areolas the light pink of summer cherry blossoms. Her entire face glowed deeply crimson now, and Palmer had never seen a more striking girl. In fact, he was hard pressed to decide which was more enchanting, her face or her breasts. Both, he thought, in equal measure, but while her chest was heart-stopping, he found himself drawn inexorably to her slitted eyes, like chocolate gemstones sparkling in the amber rays of the autumn sun. He returned his gaze to her breasts; they, too, blushed, the red highlighting yet another beauty mark on the right, just above her nipple. They looked soft...hot…

Leanne yanked and worried at his belt, her teeth gritted in the frustration of a woman who was so close to her prize she could smell it, but too far away to claim it.

Training her eyes on her lap, where her hands twisted like nervous snakes, Leah said, "Do you want to touch them?"

Blood crashed against Palmer's temples and roared in his ears. Did he nod? He thought he did, but he didn't know.

Leah wetted her lips and scooted ponderously closer, moving with the grim significance of a virgin making her way to her marriage bed, afraid, apprehensive, excited, and yearning all once. Palmer watched the hypnotic ripple and sway of her breasts as she rocked back on her knees. Leanne let out a threatening _grrr_ and pulled harder at his belt. For a moment, Leah stared at Palmer's chest, unable, perhaps, to meet his eyes, and Palmer at hers, his erection pulsing with zealous craving, the ever building pressure enough to split it down the middle like a hotdog in the microwave. She looked up, and their eyes met; he couldn't say the trepidation he saw wasn't shocking, for it was. Why would a girl as beautiful as her feel even the slightest pinch of unease with her body? He opened his mouth to speak, but the words stuck in his tacky throat. He said he was smooth, but he was not, and any encouragement he could offer would be dry, stilted, and, perahsp, even cliche.

The flighty bob of her throat, however, spurred him to say _something_. "You shouldn't be...uh, y-you shouldn't be nervous. You're…" his throat constricted and his face burned even hotter. "You're...you're perfect. You have nothing to be, uh, n-nervous about."

His pants loosened around his waist, and his heart rocketed into his throat. "Got it," Leanne said proudly.

Leah sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and darted her eyes from Palmer's face to his hands. She arched her brow questioningly and Palmer furrowed his. What did she -?

Reaching out, she laid her palms on the backs of his hands, lifted them, then guided them patiently to her chest. Palmer's middle shrank what litle air remained in his lungs was sucked away. She took a deep breath, thrust out her back, and pressed his hands against her; fevered, pliant, softer and smoother than anything he had ever known, her breasts filled his hands, her stiff nipples and the raised goosebumps surrounding them scraping his palm and kicking electric sparks into his heart. A shiver tore through him and his hips arched sharply off the bed, lending him the appearance of a convict being filled with electric justice. Leah's breathing sped up, and instead of shying away as he half expected, she threw her head back and squirmed beneath his touch, basking in it like a woman in heavenly light. His fingers unconsciously closed around her flesh, and she sucked a pained gasp that sliced through the gathering haze of his lust and plunged into his heart like a dagger. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, "I-I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It feels good," she breathed. She slipped her fingers through his and pressed harder, her ragged, out of control panting scoring the scene like the sweetest music.

Leanne pulled the flaps of his pants apart with nimble fingers and hummed. His underwear was plain, boring white, but the throbbing outline of his palpitating dick was the most awesome thing ever. Her core twinged with biological urges she only partly understood, but she ignored it - she was a very curious girl with lots of questions, and she intended to answer every single one of them... y. She pulled his pants half way to his knees and stared cross-eyed at the huge tent his dick made. The fabric covering the tippy top was dark with dampness, and Leanne's forehead creased; she looked like a little girl trying to make sense of a tough mystery, like where babies come from or why dogs don't have to wear pants but people do.

Did he pee himself?

He _did _hit the ground pretty hard back there, but when she groped him on the way home, he was dry as a bone in a clown's crawlspace. She was too turned on to really care, but pee wasn't her thing; she'd leave that to Leah.

Licking her lips, she stole a furtive glance at Leah; head tilted back, hair grazing her naked back, face contorting as Palmer worked and massaged her breasts, she gyrated her hips almost imperceptibly, back then forward, back then forward, her dress pooled around her waist and body jerking and jolting with each squeeze of his questing hands. Leanne bit her bottom lip, reached out, and stroked her middle finger down his cotton clad length, the hard yet velvety softness making her breath catch. Her eyes crossed as she focused entirely on it and nothing else and her center twisted, her hormones begging her to lift her skirt, position herself just so, then jerk down.

Palmer's butt shot off the bed again, and she giggled delightedly. She shifted onto her stomach, rested her chin on his hip, and rubbed him with her fingertips like a magic lamp.

A little tuft of pubic hair peeked out from beneath his waistband, and she slipped her fingers into it, then into his underwear. His dick threw off crazy heat and his musky smell filled her nose, activating a primal switch deep in her brain. She suddenly needed to see and feel him so bad it made her dizzy. She pulled her hand back, grabbed a handful of fabric, and pushed down; it slid over his dick, momentarily bending it, then he popped free like an old fashioned spring doorstop. Her eyes widened and the breath knocked from her lungs with a shocked hiss. She didn't know how long it was, or how thick, but it was beautiful, from its crowned tip to the strong knot at its base to its slick, glistening skin. Clear fluid for which Leanne had no name or explanation, dripped down the shaft, and getting to her knees, she examined the slit on top with her eyes. What _was _this stuff? It was too thick to be pee.

Did boys get wet like girls when they were horny?

Her forehead crinkled even more. She never heard that, but she didn't know much about sex and boys, so maybe she missed it. What did it feel like? What did it taste like?

Only one way to find out.

She curled her fingers around his dick, her fingers skitting in the oily precum coating it. The skin was soft and dizzyingly hot; it pulsed in her hand like the still beating heart of a murder victim, and she whined in the back of her throat. She literally held the most sensitive part of his body in the palm of her hand. If she wanted, she could squeeze and really, _really _hurt him.

Only she didn't want to.

She wanted to be gentle with him, sweet...she didn't want to cause him pain, she wanted to bring him toe curling, teeth baring, mind blowing _pleasure._

Palmer let out a shocked gasp and bucked like a bronco; his hands fell away from Leah's tits and grasped the blanket. Leah lowered her head with a puzzled frown, then widened her eyes when she saw his dick. Leanne, on her knees, skimmed her thumb over the slit and collected a dew drop of his essence, then stole a glance at his face to gauge his reaction: His eyes and teeth were both clenched and the muscles in his neck stood out. He looked like he was going to explode, and that made her tremble.

"That's really hot," Leah said. She siddled up, splayed one hand on Palmer's stomach, and leaned over to get a better look. His scent, primal and masculine, wafted into her nose, and his moist heat broke across her face. She took a deep breath through her nostrils and rolled the phantom of his taste over her tongue like fine wine.

Leanne moved her hand doubtfully up and down, then looked at Palmer. "Is that how you do it?"

Leah brushed her hair behind her ear and studied his face, waiting eagerly for his reply. Between what she did with Lana, Leanne, and herself, she knew her way around a vagina, but dicks were a whole new thing.

Fighting to control his breathing, he nodded, and Leanne did it again. Kneeling on either side of him, both girls stared inquisitively at his face and giggled when he gasped. Leanne turned her attention to his dick and bent until her lips hovered inches above his head. She sniffed and shivered pleasantly. "I think boys get wet like us," she told her sister.

"Do they?" Leah asked incredulously.

Leanne swallowed thickly and nodded. "Look how wet he is."

Leah leaned over and closely inspected his penis. Now that Leanne mentioned it, his skin _was _kind of greasy. Leanne cocked her head to one side and crossed her eyes. "See?" When she spoke, her breath caressed his skin and made him jerk.

"Do you always do that when you're turned on?" Leah asked innocently.

Shamefaced, Palmer nodded, still not opening his eyes, almost as though he were afraid of seeing disgust or judgement in their eyes. "Yeah. I-I don't...d-don't know if it's normal."

Leah and Leanne turned back to his penis and considered his words. Normal or not, it was freaking hot; she knew what it was like to be so crazy turned on you leaked, and having a boy in front of her feeling the same thing made _her _leak - one body crying out for another.

Leanne gripped him around the middle and lowered her head until it was almost touching her lips. "Dare me?" she asked playfully.

Taking up her little sister's challenge, Leah smugly jutted out her chin. "I bet you won't."

"Bet I will," she shot back.

"Then stop talking and do it."

Leanne hesitated for a moment, then molded her lips to Palmer's head. Palmer hissed, and with one quick, savage motion, Leanne bobbed her head down and took him deep into her mouth. Palmer cried out and gripped the blanket tight, then heaved for breath when she came up coughing. "It's really salty," she said, "just like you."

Salty, musky, dank...was it just Leah, or did that sound perfect? "Let me taste," she said. She flattened herself on the bed, dug her fingertips affectionately into Palmer's stomach, and brushed an errant strand of hair away with her free hand. She let it down because she thought it would look nice, but it kept getting in the way and was really starting to annoy her. Done, she missed a pregnant beat, then circled her hand around his dick. She didn't know what she was expecting, but the smooth, satiny, wet, and blistering ambrosia she got was not it. She'd always heard boys' dicks referred to as "hard" but while Palmer was certainly erect, his skin was silky and soft. She glanced at his face to make sure she wasn't hurting him, then brought him to her mouth. His salty boy stuff tingled warmly on her lips, and she swiped her tongue over them, her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

"Is it good?" Leanne asked.

Watching Palmer's face, she kissed his head, then wrapped her lips around it and stroked it with her tongue. He held fast to the bed and wiggled from side to side as though he were trying to get away. His thick lubrication coated the inside of her mouth like gun oil and slid wetly down the back of her throat; her jerked, and it smashed against the roof of her mouth. She pulled back a little, then went down, taking him deeper; he was so big her jaw strained and her eyes watered, but the taste of his passion was too good, too intoxicating to give up. She paused uncertainly, not knowing what to do, then swirled her tongue around him and pushed up again. He thrashed and writhed, a series of almost panicked sound grunts issuing from his throat, and copying her mother, she rubbed a comforting circle in his stomach. She curled the tip of her tongue against the ridge running beneath his head and drew back; his precum stained her lips and chin and his aroma lingered in her nose.

Leanne elbowed her away, put her mouth around Palmer's dick, and went down slowly, then pulled back up with an audible _PLOP! _A wicked grin spread across her face and she sucked his fluid from her lips. "He tastes really good."

"He does," Leah agreed. She took him into her own mouth, slid down until he touched the back of her throat, then spit him out. Leanne's brows formed a competitive V, and she did the same thing. Leah gripped his shaft, stared into her little sister's eyes, and gave Palmer's head a taunting lick. Leanne got down on her stomach, leaned in, tilted her head, and pressed her lips to his girth like a vampire biting a neck. Even more pecum drained from his tip and Leah caught it with her tongue. Leanne trailed kisses to his head, then lightly scraped her teeth across it. Palmer's hips bucked, and both girls backed away, blushing and panting.

Was he close? Leah wondered. She'd never see a boy cum before and she really, really, _really _wanted to watch him do it. She bent over, wrapped her fingers around his base, and went down again, forming her lips tight to his skin, sinking slow, then drawing back, down, back. He made strange and frantic noises, and she pulled all the way back, so heady with desire she almost fell over. "Tell me when you're gonna cum."

Not waiting for his reply, she sucked him into her mouth and went faster, his dick trembling now and leaking crazily against the inside of her cheeks. Palmer lifted his lips in time with her downward swings, penetrating her mouth and knocking against her tonsils. Leanne kissed his inner thigh, then craned her neck and licked his balls. He dug his heels into the bed, twisted the cover, and arched his back. "It's happening!" he gasped.

His dick expanded in her mouth, and she hurriedly spat him out. Clear fluid bubbled in his opening, then, with a shiver, it erupted; globs of thick white cum shot out and into the air like lava. Leah and Leanne both sucked sharp intakes of breath, their eyes shimmering at the beauty of the mystery before them. Palmer held onto the blanket and thrust his hips wildly; a fat drop fell onto the back of Leah's hand and another hit Leanne's chest like a bullet. It was warm, runny, and sticky, and as Leah lifted her hand curiously to her face, it sluiced down her pinkie and dripped onto her breast, catching on her nipple in a long, ropy strand.

Palmer fell limp against the bed and heaved for air, his dick wobbling from side to side and throwing off excess cum; a little splattered Leanne's knee and some sprinkled Leah's stomach like holy water from a baptismal septer. She held her hand up to the sunlight, and Palmer's cum sparkled like morning dew.

Leanne brushed the hem of her skirt back from her knee, swiped her index finger through a puddle of Palmer's cum, and stuck it into her mouth. Leah brought her hand to her lips, closed her eyes, and licked it from her hand. It was thicker than the other stuff, hotter and saltier too, with a metallic hint that reminded her of blood. Her pussy smoldered and the weary look on Palmer's face - him at his weakest and most vulnerable - pushed her to the edge. There were so many things she still wanted to do with him, but only one that she _needed_ to do.

Raising up on her knees, she pulled the dress over her head and tossed it aside. Palmer's eyes fell on her, and his breath caught. Leah Loud, the girl he had wanted since he was five years old, knelt beside him completely nude, her flanks dipping in a perfect hourglass figure and her wide hips sloping out. She was bare between her legs, the top of her slit just visible between her thighs. Holding his gaze needily with her own, she swung one leg over his lap and mounted him, her silken lips grazing his head and her humid heat pooling around his dick. His heart screeched to a halt and his skull filled with scalding steam.

She laid her hands on his chest, and his went shakily to her hips. She bent forward, her hair swinging free and hanging in her face, and her stickly folds scraped his dick like damp satin. She planted her knees on either side of him and tilted her head to one side; lust hazed her eyes, but something else too...something else like love. She started to speak, but pressed her lips urgently to his instead, and Palmer gave himself entirely to the kiss; their tongues flopped, grappled, and made increasingly frenetic love as they passions crested. His dick, so recently empty and deflated, sprang back to life, and warm, sticky nectar seeped freely from her delicate opening. She bit her nails into his skin as if to cling tight against powerful and pulsating surges of batter fervor. Palmer's hands drifted over her body on their own accord, first to her pert breasts, squeezing and kneading, then to her cheeks. His fingers threaded through her sweaty hair and the heels of his palms spun lazy and lovingly circles on her cheekbones. She rocked her hips slowly against him, and his dick slipped lengthwise between her folds like a hotdog in a bun, his head raking her clit. Leah whipped her head left and right, her kisses more desperate and thirsty as her mind faded and animal instinct took over, and Palmer dragged his nails along her scalp, so gone in his lust that he didn't even worry he might have hurt her, was barely aware of anything but the warmth of her hands, the taste of her mouth, and her excitement coating his thrusting dick. Back, forth, back, forth throgh the valley of her sex, grinding faster.

Some way, somehow, they moved just right, and Palmer's dick slammed into her boiling core; he let out a wavering cry and she moaned into his mouth, the sensation of living flesh spreading her apart more intense, more divine, agonizing, and good than the dildo prepared her for. A bodywide jitter flowed through her and her teeth clamped reflexively on Palmer's bottom lip. He bucked at the pain, and his head speared her cervix, making her jump. She hung her head and trembled in a caustic mixture of pleasure and suffering, and her hair hung in his face, enshrouding them in their own secret garden of earthly delights. Her narrowed eyes eddied with passion, and Palmer couldn't have stopped himself from claiming her lips if he wanted to. He kissed her deeply, and she kissed back; her hands crept into his, and as she began to thrust, their fingers entwined and they traded an affectionate and reassuring squeeze.

Leanne leaned close and intently watched her older sister ride Palmer McBride's dick. Leah's shoulder blades flexed and her skin rippled; her tight butt rhythmically clenched and unclenched; her hair swished back and forth; she pinned Palmer's hands to the mattress and gasped a series of praises against his lips (_oh, God, oh, Jesus, oh fuck_); Palmer lifted to meet her thrusts, and flesh slapped together; the tart, pungent odor of their mingling sexes, Palmer stirring Leah's insides like a wooden paddle to a witch's cauldron, blew over her like a fragrent wind. She was hotter than she'd ever been in her life, and the saturated crotch of her panties clung uncomfortably to her swollen lips. She reached down and unstuck them, then frowned impatiently. Were they almost done? She wanted her turn.

The headboard beat against the wall and the bedframe squeaked and creaked as though it were going to fall apart. Leah planted her arms on either side of Palmer's head and clutched the pillow, then slammed her hips flush with his. The pain was gone, and in its place the sharpest bliss she had ever felt. She could feel every ridge and bump of Palmer's dick raking her walls, and each time it pushed her limit, she let out a gasp. He stared up at her in wonder, and skimmed his hands over her tender breasts. She was so close...so close...if she just kept moving, more friction, one more -

She fused her lips to Palmer's, and her core clutched. Her body tensed, then her orgasm tore loose and detonated in her stomach like a bomb, fire spreading out in every direction and overwhelming her senses. Her muscles clamped around his pumping shaft, and with a moan and a quick sting of being pried apart, he grew exponentially inside of her then burst. Wet, blistering heat flooded her and a wordless cry burst from her lips. Palmer's hands danced spasmodically across her back, then clutched her butt and squeezed; a convulsion hit him, and he thrusted one final time, hitting the back of her womb and splashing it with his last volley. Leah's eyes narrowed to slits and she rocked unconsciously back and forth, sucking every last drop of seed from his balls and drawing it deep into her fertile soil.

When the pangs subsided, she flopped on top of Palmer, his dick still inside of her and pulsing, and her breasts smooshed against his chest. He closed his arms around her and she purred her contentment. They weren't very strong, or big, but she felt safe, protected, and good nonetheless. She snuggled closer, her face burrowing into the crook of his neck, and he slipped out of her in a gush of their combined juices. "That feels weird," she said and crinkled her nose. Weariness lay heavy upon her and her pelvis ached - she was groggy, sore, tingly all over, and her thighs and stomach were smeared with sticky boy-girl cum.

In other words, everything was perfect.

Something nudged her shoulder, and her heart jogged. She looked over her shoulder, and Leanne's blushing face filled her vision. "Can I have my turn now?" she asked, a keening edge in her voice.

Leah turned to Palmer. "Can she have her turn now?"

Palmer glanced nervously at his dick; it lay limply against his leg, looking beaten and spent, and when he clenched, it barely moved. His personal high score was five orgasms in one night, so he was sure he could go again, he just needed a moment to rest.

The fire in Leanne's eyes, however, and the red cast of her flesh, told him she didn't have a moment to spare.

Perhaps for an older, more experienced man, that might have been a problem, but he was neither of those things. He was a curious boy with lots of questions, and he intended to answer each and every one of them...

* * *

Palmer lay on his side, Leanne pulled tight against his body and their tongues dancing a slow, diffident waltz. One of her legs was hooked over his hip, and her socked heel dug into his bare butt; his semi erect penis prodded her through her underwear and his fingernails grazed her scalp, sending red tendrils shivering down her spine. She humped him gently, not seeking release but enjoying the feeling of his head pushing into her cotton covered lips. She pressed the flat of one palm against his naked chest and lightly scratched his back, smiling into his lips when he cringed. "I like scratching," she said and kissed him, tongues groping and lips squelching, "and biting."

"I kind of noticed," Palmer replied.

She nipped his bottom lip and giggled when he recoiled. A flicker of remorse twinged her heart and she pecked it like a mommy kissing her baby's boo boo better. "Is that okay?" she asked anxiously. "I won't do it if you don't like it."

Palmer brushed his thumb over the ridge of her cheekbone and caressed her tongue with his. "I don't mind," he said, then hastened to add, "just don't bite me...you know...down there."

"I won't," she promised. She laid her hand on his cheek and stared into his brown eyes, strange and fuzzy feelings flooding her chest. She was not emotionless, she experienced things like anger, envy, and even love, but they were often sedate and blunted. What she felt right now, however, was keen, cutting, and raw. She didn't know what to call it, but she liked it despite herself. She leaned into kiss him and their noses brushed. Palmer shivered, and grinning wickedly, she did it again, whipping her head from side to side and tickling the tip of his nose.

"Stop," he whined, and Leanne giggled.

"I don't wanna," she said and dug her heel deeper into his butt, drawing him closer. His dick mashed against her, and pulsing veins of sensation shot into her core. She pecked his lips, then flicked her tongue against his. He deepened the kiss, and she started humping again, faster than before, like a small dog lost in the mist of its arousal. Palmer laid his hand on her bear thigh and moved his fingertips lazily under her skirt, charting her body and savoring the smooth silk of her skin. Leah, hitherto on her back and fighting to stay awake, rolled onto her side and ran her hands over Palmer's back, the way his muscles rippled beneath his skin exciting her all over again.

Leanne broke from Palmer's mouth and peppered frantic kisses on his lips and chin. He wound his fingers through the waistband of her panties and dragged them slowly down her leg, the scrap of bunched fabric making her heart skip. She lifted slightly off the bed, and he pulled them to her knees. She wiggled until they hung from one ankle, then kicked them away. She stretched out next to Palmer, took his hands in her face, and kissed him greedily, her leg sliding over his hip. Her folds wrapped around his head and when she thrust, it searchingly probed her center. He brushed her skirt up, clutched a handful of her butt, and pulled her roughly to him. His pubic hair tickled her naked middle, and a gasp ripped from her throat. Her body was leading her now and there was nothing she could do but let nature take its course; she raked her nails down his chest, grinded him between her lower lips, and whipped his tongue with hers. He moved his hand to her waist and pushed her insistently away.

She allowed him to roll her onto her back and stared up at him as he knelt next to her. He put his hand on her upper thigh, and she opened her legs. He swallowed and peeled her skirt back from her center with twitching fingers; she dutifully lifted her butt, then, when it was around her hips, lowered herself again. She planted her feet and spread her knees, her legs in a haphazard M, and looked at Palmer with a twist of nerves to see if he liked it.

Palmer flushed at the sight of Leanne's vagina, and his dick filled with second life like a creature rising from death. Her lips, swollen with desire, were pink and parted like the petals of a flower coated in morning dew. Though he literally just had sex, he didn't get a good look at Leah's pussy, so this, right now, was technically his first time seeing one in real life. It looked different than the ones he'd seen in porn, fresher, somehow purer. He could feel her heat from here, and when he took a deep breath, its musky scent filled his nose and steeped his brain like wine.

He licked his lips and darted his eyes from it to Leanne's face, needing to touch it and know it so badly his muscles strained.

"Do you like it?" she asked worriedly.

"It's beautiful," he said. He rested his hand on her stomach and she closed her eyes with a contented hum. He sailed his fingertips down her skin. When he reached her girlhood, he held it in the palm of his hand, and both of them gasped it unison. Hot, slick, and softer than satin, it pulsed and throbbed in his grasp, pounding, he presumed, in time with her heart. Leanne moved her hips up and down, grinding him and biting her bottom lip, her closed eyelids fluttering and muffled moans rumbling in the back of her throat. He slid his middle finger between her viscose crease, and whipping her head to one side, she clamped the pillow with her teeth.

Bending closer, hoving over her like a curious student ready to learn, he explored Leanne with his fingers, looking first for her clit and finding it by accident; he brushed it, and her hips jerked reflexively. He frowned, unsure if he actually found it, and swirled his fingers around what he thought was it. She bucked again and spat the pillow out with a hiss. Next, he went off in search of her opening; Leah knelt behind him now, her arms wrapped possessively around his waist and her breasts flattened against his back.

When he found Leanne's boiling wellspring, he prodded it with his index finger, then pushed it a fraction of an inch in. She panted for air and bore down on her bottom lip, her body thrumming with energy but no longer bold enough to move. Leah placed a tender kiss on his shoulder, and watching Leanne's face for cues, he slid his finger deeper. Her face burned with crimson color now and her tiny chest burst for oxygen. Palmer paused and caught his breath. He was hot, shaking, and his dick trembled like a needle in mercury.

He wanted to touch, taste, kiss, lick, and rub every square inch of Leanne's body, but the urge to sink himself into her was too strong to resist. Pulling his hand away, he mounted her, and she looked up at him with misty eyes. He braced his arms on either side of her head and she brought her knees to her chest like she was preparing to do a cannonball. His dick slid through her slit and his head pointed at her face like a fat, accusatory finger.

Pulling back, he closed his hands around her socked ankles, swiveled his hips until he pressed against her opening, and hesitated. Leah ran her hands over his shoulders and kissed his neck, her humid breath making his skin tingle. "Do it," Leah said, "fuck her."

Palmer took a deep breath, nodded resolutely, and baring his teeth, slammed his hips forward. His dick sank into her snug passage, and she let out a pained, high pitched squeal that barely registered in his addled brain. A spasm exploded through her and her face turned deep, blood red. Her panicking muscles squeezed him and her core clenched so hard it made him moan. Letting her feet drop, he leaned over, gripped the sheet in either hands, and slammed into her again; her back arched off the bed, her head tilted back to bare her soft, palpitating throat, and her lips quivered. "That hurts," she whimpered. Then: "Go faster."

She pressed her knees into his hips and Palmer set a hard, rough pace, lost to the feeling of Leanne's body: Tight, scalding, wet, her walls stroking him, her fluid burning him, her limit smashing against his head every time he thrust. His orgasm formed quickly, and that feeling of losing control brought him partly out of his fugue. Shaking and panting, he slowed down. Leanne's eyelids rippled, her teeth gnashed her bottom lip, and she panted rapidly through her nose. Her stockinged feet brushed his outer thighs and that alone nearly sent him over the edge. He bowed his head, ground his teeth, and regulated his breathing - the tide receeded, but it didn't go far. One wrong move and it would come roaring back in an unstoppable tidal wave.

"Stop," Leanne gasped, and Palmer froze.

She slipped out from under him, rolled onto her stomach, and got her hands and knees under her. She thrust her butt at him and lowered her head. "I want to do this now," she panted.

The hem of her skirt tastefully covered her rear, and he hiked it up around her hips. Her pink, puckered butthole winked suggestively, and between her legs her smoldering pussy trembled in delighted anticipation. Taking his dick in his hand, he pressed it against her, found her entrance, then clutched her hips and thrusted. She threw her head back with a yelp and clawed at the sheets. He pulled back as slow as he could, then shot forward again, stiff, deliberate, so close that any faster would tip him over the side. Leanne rocked back on her knees and Leah slipped her arms under his; the older girl's hands laced across his chest and her lips molded to his throbbing pulse.

Leanne pushed back against him, taking his dick all the way to her womb, and Palmer dug his nails into her hips in an attempt to make her stay still, but Leanne being Leanne, she simply moaned and went faster; her slick walls glided up and down his dick and though he wanted her first time to be perfect, he was going to be rude and come before the lady just this once.

Gritting his teeth, he leaned into the fall, thrusting back and forth so hard his balls slapped painfully against her clit. She hung her head, held fast to the sheets, and threw herself back.

That was all he could take; Palmer swelled against her walls, then exploded. Leanne jumped forward and tensed as his cum gushed hotly into her. She hissed through her teeth and shook at the awesome might of her climax.

For a while, they remained fused, panting and shaking, then they parted and fell limp to the bed. Leah crawled into the spot next to Palmer, and the three of them lay side by side by side on their backs, the girls' legs hooked over both of Palmer's and their fingers weaved with his. Palmer's muscles ached, his dick was raw, chafed, and coated in the cum (and virginal blood) of two girls, and the warm smell of sex hung over him like a thick, woolen blanket. Leah and Leanne's ragged pants formed a melodic symphony, and the delicate shapes of their hands in his felt so perfect, so _right_. He glanced from one to the other; both blushed beautifically, Leanne with her eyes closed and a blissful smile on her face, and Leah staring up at the ceiling with sultry eyes that he could only describe as exotic even though they were completely normal. She turned to him, and a sly smile played at the corners of her mouth. "Do you wanna try something else?"

Palmer shot his dick a worried look; it was totally flaccid and lay against his leg like a fallen pugilist. "I don't think I could go again," he said contritely.

She sat up. "You don't have to."

He cocked his brow uriously. "Okay. What do you want to do?"

Three minutes later, maybe less, her knees caged his head and her speeing pussy grazed his face. Her smell and heat bathed his face and when she settled onto his mouth, her juices flowed into him, bitter, coppery, and good. He laid his hands on the tops of her thighs and made clumsy love to her with his tongue. She brushed her hair from her face, sucked her lips into her mouth to keep from moaning, and rested her hands on the back of his. She slid herself gently back and forth, the wet squirming of Palmer's tongue in her opening and lapping her middle making it hard to think. She slipped her fingers through his and held his hands as she rocked faster. Leanne watched sleepily. "Play with my tits?" Leah asked.

For a moment Leanne simply stared at her, then making up her mind, she got to her knees, crawled behind her older sister, and slipped her arms around her chest. She squeezed Leah's tits, and Leah's soft moans urged her on. She pinched and rolled her nipples between her fingers, tugging, yanking, her lips somehow winding up on Leah's throat and her teeth sinking lightly into her flesh. Leah rocked faster, then threw her head back into the crook of Leanne's neck and came with a shudder and a hissing, "Fuck yes."

She turned her head and her lips ghosted Leanne's. They held each other's gaze, then kissed, their tongues moving languidly over one another. Leah broke the kiss, hung her head, and drew a deep breath. "I need a nap," she said. Her eyes widened as, presumably, she remembered Palmer. She lifted up and slid back. "How're _you _doing?" she asked.

Clear fluid and blood covered the boy's chin and the lenses of his glasses were beaded with either cum or condensation. He drunkenly lifted one hand and gave a thumbs up. "Never been better," he slurred.

Leah stretched out on one side of him and Leanne on the other, both clinging to him and cocking a leg over his. Palmer's eyelids drooped closed and he fought against the urge to drift off; he didn't want this moment to end, and was afraid that if he slept, he would wake to find that it was only a dream. If it was, he wanted it to last just a little longer.

He opened his eyes when Leanne nipped his bottom lip; pain shot into his skull and dispelled the gathering gloom. Nope, he wasn't dreaming.

This was real.

"Love bite," she grinned.


	6. One Final Piece of Advice

**Guest: Forgot to answer you last time. Yes, there will be more Glamorama upcoming. I do have an aged up Lilycoln story done and in my files. I want to wait until January to post it, so look for it then, though possibly a little sooner. **

Lincoln Loud spent three days in mental and emotional anguish before breaking down and driving to Taco Timmy's. His knuckles were white on the wheel, his eyes rimmed with dark sleeplessness, and he jumped at every sound, no matter how routine or expected. What he saw earlier that week haunted the chambers of his mind and tortured him every time he closed his lids. It was coming, he knew that, but somehow, he expected it to wait just a little longer, for Leah and Leanne to stay children for a few more years.

He pulled into a slot facing the plate glass window fronting the building. Through the pane, happy diners sat at booths and chowed down on tacos, burritos, and empanadas, their conversation light and happy - the casual chit chat of friends and families without a care and out to lunch. He killed the engine and sat where he was for a long time before getting up and going inside. The smell of Mexican food and the low din of many voices washed over him, and he looked around. As fate would have it, Timmy Taco sat alone at a booth just outside the play area, a bag of McDonald's at his left hand and a Big Mac in front of him. His shoulders were slumped and he paused to suck secret sauce from his finger with an obscene slurp. Lincoln raised his brow and watched the mascot for a moment.

Why not eat the food here?

Not really caring, he made his way across the sticky floor and stopped at the table. TT looked up and him and glowered.

Maybe this was a mistake.

"The fuck does yo ass want?" TT asked. "I'm on break, nigga."

Lincoln took a deep breath. Was he really so desperate that he would come to TT, the gangsta formerly known as Dino, for help?

Yes. Yes he was. "You told me to come here if I needed help with my g-girls," Lincoln stammered.

TT regarded him for a moment, then nodded. He motioned at the empty spot across from him and went back to his food. "Sit."

Lincoln slid into the booth and patiently waited for TT to finish his Big Mac. "Yo daddy still alive?"

"No," Lincoln said, "he died three years ago."

TT hummed. "He leave you that beans and franks recipe?"

"No," Lincoln said and crinkled his nose. He hated that stuff.

Sighing, TT sat back against the vinyl. "The one goddamn thing that man did right, and no one wrote it down? Y'all weak."

Lincoln started to reply, but TT cut him off. "What'chu want? That lil girl tryna kill niggas again?"

"No," Lincoln said heavily, "it's not that, it's.." he trailed off and sniffed wetly.

TT cocked his head. "Nigga, is you cryin? One them girls hit yo ass? You need a safe place to stay the night, mah nigga?"

Lincoln shook his head. "Leah and Leanne have a...a boyfriend….and I caught them...doing things with him."

"What things?" TT demanded.

"Sex," Lincoln said and shivered.

"Oh, hell no," TT said. "Did you whip they asses?"

Again, Lincoln shook his head. "N-No. I mean...t-they're old enough to make their own decisions, I just...I need to -"

He jumped when TT brought his palms down on the table. "Old enough to make they own decisions?" the mascot cried. "Nigga, they's eleven and thirteen. E-LEVEN AND THIR-TEEN. They kids. You serious with this shit, nigga?"

Lincoln opened his mouth, but TT waved his hand. "Look right here, nigga, listen to the sound of my voice. I ain't _ever _been straighter with someone then I'm bein with'chu. You and yo sistas are fuck-ups. You don't let a couple lil kids make they own decisions, they kids, nigga, kids. Say it with me."

Lincoln swallowed. "K-Kids."

"They need structure and they need discipline. They don't need no glorified yes man masqueradin as a daddy, they need a man. And Lincoln, you ain't no man."

Lincoln winced.

"You need to guide yo kids and tell em what's up, nigga. You can't just let them go fuckin they boyfriend. You tryna let them get pregnant? You really tyna let yo eleven year old and yo thirteen year old get pregnant and ruin they lives?"

"No," Lincoln cried, "I just -"

"Who dis boy is?"

Lincoln sighed. Defending himself would do no good. And maybe TT was right...maybe he really _wasn't _a man. "Palmer McBride. He was at Leah's party."

The clown seemed to think for a moment. "You mean that lil boy lookin like a mixed race Steve Urkel? His moms got a fat ass. Where he stay at?"

Lincoln blinked in surprise at TT's question. "W-Why?"

"Cuz we gon call on his ass, nigga."

Lincoln's heart dropped into his stomach. "God, no, I don't want to hurt him, just maybe talk to him, like...you know, the you better be good to my little girls speech."

Getting to his feet, the leviathan stared down at Lincoln. "That's what we gon do."

Fifteen minutes later, he and TT stood on Clyde McBride's doorstep. The house, two stories and brick with European style windows, a dark gray slate roof, and ivy growing across the facade, never failed to take Lincoln's breath away. His own home, a one story ranch, paled in comparison, and he had always envied Clyde's home.

The door opened and Clyde appeared, dressed in black slacks and a white dress shirt, the cuffs rolled up to expose his hairy forearms and a black tie loosened around his neck. He held a whiskey glass in one hand, ice cubes clinking inside, and a sparkling gold Rolex around his wrist. His normally affable face creased in suspicion when he saw TT. "Yes?" he asked guardedly.

"Social services," TT said, "this a home check, nigga." He started in, but Clyde pointedly blocked the way. Flashing, TT grabbed him by the side of his head and shoved him so hard he lost his footing and slammed against the wall. Lincoln winced, but followed the mascot inside anyway.

Clyde got woozily to his knees. "Penelope! Call the pol -"

The words died on his lips when TT whipped out a chrome plated .45, turned, and aimed it at him.

Sideways.

"Call the _what, _nigga?" the clown asked.

The color drained from Clyde's face, and he jerked a beseeching look at Lincoln.

Penelope, clad in a pink sweater and black yoga pants, came in from the kitchen. "Did you -?"

TT whipped the gun in her direction, and she jumped back with a cry. "Where yo son is? Me and my nigga gots to speak with his ass."

Penelope's eyes widened in fright. "D-Don't hurt my son," she begged, "please, do -"

"We ain't gon hurt him," TT said, "but we gon hurt you if you keep trippin. Where he at?"

Gulping, Penelope nodded to a hallway, and TT strutted by. "Call the po-leece, and Imma blow his lil head off, feel me?"

"U-Understood."

Keeping his head down and blushing with embarrassment, Lincoln followed TT down the hall to a closed door. TT balled his fist and pounded. "Who is it?" a high, reedy voice replied.

Without answering, TT drew his foot back and kicked the door open in a shower of splintering wood. It slammed against the wall with a sound like Judgement Day and TT went in. Palmer sat at a desk under the window, half turned to face them over his shoulder and looking terrified. TT approached, and the boy jumped to his feet, looking left and right for some route of escape, then leaned fearfully back against the table when TT loomed over him. Palmer flashed a toothy smile, then screamed when TT snatched him by the front of his shirt and lifted him off the floor. The boy's feet kicked in mid air and tiny exclamations burst from his lips.

"You fuckin his daughters, huh?" TT asked.

Horror, and guilt, filled Palmer's eyes. "No!"

"Don't lie to me," TT sneered, "you done fucked em both, didn't you?"

"I swear, I didn't have sexual relations with those women!"

TT pulled his gun out, and Palmer burst into tears. "I did! I did! " he sobbed. "I've engaged in penetrative vaganal intercourse with Leah and Leanne Loud multiple times. I've given both oral sex, I've quote unqote eaten Leanne's ass, I've given Leah anal twicel I even let Leanne tie me up and pretend I'm her victim. Please, God, don't kill me."

Each admission hit Lincoln like a boot to the sternum.

"You think it's funny, huh?" TT roared.

"No!"

"You didn't have to say all that, nigga! You braggin!"

"NO-O-O-OOO!"

TT spun Palmer around to face Lincoln. "Tell this lil nappy headed nigga he best not get them pregnant."

Lincoln licked his lips. "Uh, well, I just…"

"Tell him, nigga!"

Lincoln jumped. "Don't get my daughters pregnant," he blurted.

"Now show him you mean it," TT said, "slap his ass."

Lincoln sputtered. "Uh, no, I -"

TT grabbed Palmer by the back of his head and shoved his face toward Lincoln. "Slap the taste out his mouth or so help me God, Imma do it to you."

Swallowing, Lincoln lifted his hand and brought it down in an arc; his palm connected to Palmer's face with a loud thwack, and the boy let out a moan. TT dropped him to the floor and stood over him. "You heard, nigga? We ain't gon have _no _teenage pregnancies. You knock one of them little girls up, Imma come here and cut yo dick myself."

Palmer trembled. "You need rubbas, nigga, come see me. You know where I stay."

WIth that, TT spun and marched out of the room, and after a hesitant moment, Lincoln followed. Outside, TT said, "You a special case, nigga. Imma tell you what. Imma teach you how to be a man. Yo daddy dropped the ball but now you hangin with a _real _nigga."

"I don't think -"

"Shut yo ass up. Lesson one, a real man makes his homey beans and franks as a thank you for handlin his bidness."

"But I don't -"

"You gon learn, now come on. I been cravin that shit for twenty years, nigga."

TT went to the car and Lincoln followed.

He hadn't had beans and franks since he, Lola, and Lana left home nearly fifteen years ago, but he would have it many, many, _many _times in the future.

And you know what?

He still hated it.

**THE END.**


End file.
